The Good Moments
by FinalArc
Summary: Dick shows up at Wayne Manor with a baby who won't stop crying. Alfred doesn't know what to say, Bruce doesn't know what not to say, and what Barbara has to say isn't appropriate for children. Tim is excited to be an almost-uncle, Jason's still processing the fact that he's a brother, and Cass is just fascinated by babies.
1. Chapter 1

The night started out routine enough. Alfred's employer, Bruce Wayne, had left for his nightly ritual of dressing up in a cape and body armor to investigate the doings of the criminal underworld, and as the butler was not presently needed, he retired upstairs to catch whatever relaxation he could. Despite the horrors Gotham City had endured under the city-wide gang war and the numerous personal complications to affect the family, tonight promised to be a quiet one.

Until the front doorbell rang. It was far too late at night for any courteous guest, so it was with some trepidation that Alfred made his way to the door, which turned into confusion as he drew close enough to hear the commotion on the other side. If his ears could be believed, there was a baby shrieking loud enough to wake a cemetery, but Alfred couldn't imagine what business they or their caretaker could have with the Waynes, let alone why they would choose to come in the dead of night.

And then he heard the young, strained voice, "Come on, bud, just let up for two seconds, I'm begging you..." Alfred flung open the door to reveal Master Dick on the front step, clutching a screaming baby to his chest and juggling a bottle and a diaper bag in the crook of his elbow. His black hair was unkempt, his chin covered in unsightly stubble and Alfred doubted the young sir had changed his jeans or shirt in at least three days. His blue eyes were bloodshot and betrayed sleepless nights and an excess of tears, and he all but collapsed at Alfred's feet when the door opened for him. "I'm sorry, Alfred, but I didn't know where else to go!"

The old butler could only gape at first, but soon recovered his professionalism. "Come inside, my boy, and let me take your things." Dick gratefully hobbled in and let Alfred relieve him of his non-human cargo, which allowed the young man to focus more attention on the still-howling infant in his arms. The sound was as grating as Nature intended it to be, but Alfred was more concerned to see the young master leaning heavily on his good leg despite all these months since the initial gunshot wound. He hadn't heard tell of additional injures, though entirely possible, and he would have thought the leg healed by now. But then again, that assumption was based on a patient who followed orders, rather than backflip off of buildings with little more than a leg brace to hold him up.

"He won't stop crying! Do you think he's sick? I change his diapers and feed him and do all the stuff the baby books say, and I took him to the clinic, but they say he's fine and I don't know what to do..." Alfred watched Master Dick ramble on, still somewhat struck by the young man's presence after so long an absence. He'd always known where Dick was, as his undercover operation as a mob enforcer was at Batman's request, but there was little actual contact with him in that time. In fact, the last time Alfred had seen his young charge was while treating his leg, but soon Master Dick had left and the house was empty once again. Master Bruce retreated into himself, as was his way, but Alfred's heart cried out for the younger master, the light in their dark little cave, who seemed to have lost the very spark that had once defined his character.

It didn't appear much had changed. Master Dick had the demeanor of a dead soul held together by fraying nerves. "Is Bruce here?"

"Master Bruce is currently gallivanting across some rooftop, I'm afraid. I can call him back if you wish."

"No! Oh, _God_ , no!" Master Dick was quick to say, as if Alfred had suggested slathering the boy in bacon and throwing him to the hounds of hell. "You can't tell him anything, Alfred, he can't ever know I was here!"

"My boy, if you're in some kind of trouble, I'm sure he'd race straight home."

"All the quicker to tear my head off, he can't ever know, you can't tell him!" The manner of the young man's speech became increasingly frantic, his eyes wild and his posture suggesting he wanted to collapse and curl into the fetal position. Alfred was becoming more concerned with every second.

"Sir," he slowly pointed out, "This may be harder to conceal than a sub-standard report card." A human child was not easily kept out of sight, and this one was clearly in disagreement with the adage that children be seen and not heard. But Master Dick appeared to stop breathing the second he was presented with the futility of hiding his current predicament, and Alfred decided not to press the issue for the moment.

Instead, he brought up the most glaring question of the whole scenario. "The child... is he-?"

"Mine? Yeah." Alfred didn't know snowmen were capable of looking so pale, let alone a human being. "I didn't know, just found out last week, he hasn't stopped crying since, aren't babies supposed to sleep? He's got to sleep sometime, right? All he does is scream at me, but I swear I've changed diapers and fed him and everything the baby book said, I even took him to the clinic and they said he's fine, but he's not, Alfred! No one cries this much without a reason, something's wrong! It's like he knows!"

"Knows what, sir?"

Master Dick turned his head away, seconds from bursting into tears. "Why is this happening? I can't do this, Alfred. I can't even figure out why he's crying, I can't get him to sleep, he should feel comfortable with me, right? Does he not trust me to keep him safe, is that it? Why is this happening? I didn't ask for this! This wasn't supposed to happen, it's not fair!"

"I'm afraid you'll get little sympathy from me with that kind of talk," Alfred sniffed. "Enjoying such adult pleasures without accepting the possible consequences is very childish of you. You were the one who decided he was grown up enough to handle intimacy. This might be unexpected, but certainly not unfair." Master Dick looked like he'd been slapped in the face, and Alfred relented. The boy's emotional state was far too fragile to handle much more than breathing. "But we can discuss that later. Let's retire to the kitchen for now." And he helped young man and baby along, Master Dick limping heavily the entire way, while the child wailed. "You say nothing has quieted him down?"

"He likes it when I bounce him like this," Dick demonstrated for a second, "Sometimes, anyway. But I've been doing that for hours and it puts all this pressure on my leg and I don't think I can stay awake another second, I don't know how _he's_ still awake-"

"Sit down before you become hysterical." Alfred ushered his charge into a kitchen chair, and placed the baby accessories on the table, then put a kettle on while several attempts to soothe and comfort a wailing infant proved fruitless. Alfred took pity after a few minutes and pulled up a chair for himself. "May I?"

For a second, Master Dick seemed reluctant to entrust the child to anyone else, but soon acquiesced, and seemed grateful to be relieved of the burden. Alfred took a soft blanket from Dick's bag and swaddled the young child until it was in a tight cocoon, and gently rocked him for a few seconds. A little shushing, and Alfred was pleased to hear the shrieks die down to some tired whimpers. He'd always had a gift for colicky infants, and even Master Bruce himself went down with little fuss when in Alfred's hands.

As an adult, however, his employer was sadly beyond anyone's wrangling. "Does this young one have a name?"

"Yeah, I call him RJ."

"Richard John?" Alfred asked, and Dick blushed a little, ducking his head.

"Too narcissistic?"

"Not at all. It's a fine, classic name and I am confident he will wear it to distinction." Hearing so brought a smile to Master Dick's face, before he dropped his head into his hands.

"This has got to be wizardry, Alfred. I've been trying for the past two days to get him to quiet down. I think he hates me or something."

"Now that is simply not true." His words had no effect on Dick. The young man practically dripped with self-condemnation. "He may be crying because he wants to sleep, contradictory as that might seem. Or he could just be overwhelmed by this strange new world he's found himself in. It is perfectly normal for babies to cry, and you shouldn't take it as a reflection of yourself." But it seemed the baby was more easily soothed than Dick, and Alfred decided to distract with a change of subject. "Is the young lady someone I know?"

"Who?" came the lackluster reply, Dick's head still hung in exhaustion and defeat.

"RJ's mother." That caused Master Dick to freeze. And after a second of tense silence, to shake. "Master Dick?"

"Uh, I don't think you ever met her... maybe, I can't remember..." the young man stammered out. He clasped his hands together as if wringing them would somehow give him the strength necessary to lift his eyes. "It doesn't matter, though, she's not... She's not going to be hanging around..."

"I see." Already unprepared for the role of father to be thrust on him, life as a single parent had to be especially daunting. Alfred remembered his own moment of soul-curdling terror at the thought of raising Master Bruce, when the whole of time seemed to stretch before him and decorate itself with potential failures. He placed a hand on Dick's knee. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I'm proud to know that you would step up to your responsibilities, even under difficult circumstances. You are a good man, and will make an excellent father." Dick was not comforted, rather, he began to cry. "I promise, you will make it through this trying time."

"It's not me I'm worried about, it's RJ. This is all my fault! He shouldn't cry so much, I have to be doing something wrong!"

"From what you've told me, you've done nothing wrong. Sometimes babies cry for no reason." Alfred gripped Dick's elbow and forced the young man to look up. "You are doing all the right things. Keep doing them, and you will be just fine. Colic should dissipate in a few weeks-"

"A few weeks!"

"It _will_ end, Master Dick. Take some deep breaths, and you can endure." He smiled a little when the young man gulped down some air and nodded. "I do have a recipe for gripe water that worked wonders on Master Bruce, and rather simple. But I recommend you discuss it with your pediatrician first, allergies may also be a factor here."

Now Dick fidgeted and his confidence waned even further. "We just go to the free clinic up the way," he confessed in shame, "We don't have a pediatrician, I don't have insurance... I just got out of working for the mob, I don't have anything..." Alfred frowned, the bleak attitude suddenly making a bit more sense. For the sake of the mission, all the Bats and Birds tended to neglect their personal lives, Master Bruce most of all. But Bruce Wayne had a large fortune to support him and any pursuits he might take on, while Dick Grayson was a fired police officer with less than a semester's worth of college education. Very little job history or accolades, at least on paper.

"Where are you living now?"

"In a motel off the highway. I wasn't planning for _any_ of this. I'm only in Gotham because Bruce asked me to help." At the mention of his mentor, Dick's shoulders began to shake. "Oh, he's going to kill me, there's no way I can be Nightwing now."

"It does seem that priorities will have to shift." Alfred wanted to say that Master Bruce would be compassionate and understanding, and overjoyed to see his adopted son with a child of his own, but he knew there were some gambles not worth taking. Who knew how the Batman would react to this news? "But save those worries for another time. This little bundle is the only thing you need to focus on." He smiled, but an odor soon twisted the corners of his mouth back down.

"That little bundle needs a diaper change," Dick said with a tired smirk, his first act of mirth all evening. He wearily pushed himself to his feet and reached for the diaper bag. "Come on, little guy. Can't be doing your business in the kitchen."

"May I, Master Dick?" Alfred stood and held out a hand for the bag. "You look dead on your feet."

"No, you don't have to. I've already imposed on you enough." But he didn't deny Alfred was right.

"Please, sir. I assure you, I know what I'm doing." He took the bag from Dick's indecisive hand and gestured for him to sit back down. "Relax a moment, and then we can discuss things over a cup of tea. I insist."

Dick finally agreed, and Alfred left him to go care for the now-fussy infant. Apparently young Master RJ did not enjoy the diaper changing process, and made his displeasure known. If this was the sound ringing in Dick's ears for the past week or so, it was no small wonder he was so close to hysterics now. "I'm sure you can't help it, my child, but do try to go easy on your poor father," Alfred told RJ, once the baby had been cleaned up. "He does the best he can, and he's as new to this as you are." RJ wrinkled his tiny nose and mewled in response.

But he soon quieted down, and Alfred thought they might even be lucky enough to put him down for a nap within the half-hour, so it was with a smug triumph that he returned to the kitchen. Years had gone by, a generation in fact, but he still had it.

Master Dick was unable to appreciate that, however. Alfred returned to find him face down on the table, snoring softly. A boneless form, with his arms just dangling off of the table, it was almost comical. Alfred reached down and placed a hand on Dick's shoulder to rouse him, but there was no response. Some harder shaking only resulted in a soft moan.

"Dear me, Master RJ, it seems he is as much in need of a nap as you are." Though the current position looked horribly uncomfortable. Alfred couldn't carry Master Dick's weight on his own, but he was reluctant to wake the young man up when he saw the peaceful look on his face.

Peace was something Alfred hadn't seen in this boy for a long time.

"Rest now, my dear child," he spoke softly. There would be time later to try and force him into a guest room. "You were right to come here. I promise you, all will be well."

* * *

But Alfred's promise was short-lived. Master Dick didn't stay asleep for long, and he woke up in pure panic. "I fell asleep! What time is it? Is Bruce home yet?"

"I am expecting him shortly-" Nothing more needed to be said. Dick was on his feet, stiff as his one leg was, and gathered up all he'd brought with him, including the baby. "What has gotten into you?"

"I can't stay, Alfred, I never should have come! I'm so sorry, this was a mistake!" As frantic as he was, the words were spoken with sincerity, the boy was truly apologetic, if needlessly so. "I shouldn't have bothered you, we're just gonna go..."

"Sir, I insist you stay. It is far too late for you to be out walking, and Master Bruce will be home any minute-"

"Don't you see? That's why I have to go! I can't face him, Alfred, he can't ever know I was here!" Despite Alfred's protests, Dick was almost to the door, and his blue eyes pleaded for understanding. "You can't tell him I was here! He'd kill me if he ever found out!"

"Found out what? That you're human?"

"I'm so far from humanity, you don't even know," Dick all but sobbed, and he shook his head. "No, he can't know about this, I shouldn't have come. Don't tell anybody, I just need to get away before I poison anything else!" He stepped out the door and almost disappeared into the night, but Alfred grabbed his elbow at the last second.

"My dear boy, you are not well," he insisted. "Let us help you. No one will condemn you for some small mistake."

Dick's eyes were wider than the furthest reaches of space, deeper than the ocean floor, and somehow, completely empty. "It's not a small mistake. Not even a lot of small mistakes. And he's never going to forgive me for any of it." Dick shrugged out of Alfred's grip and started running. "I'm sorry for everything..."

If he had been younger, faster, stronger, he might have been able to give chase and call Dick back. But as he was, all Alfred could do was stare out at the blackness of Gotham and pray his boys passed safely through.


	2. Chapter 2

**I thought I dropped enough clues in the first chapter to give a hint of when this takes place, but the reviews are suggesting not everyone has read that story arc, or that they did and they hated it.**

 **So, for clarity: This takes place in that weird time after "War Games" but before "Infinite Crisis" is really a huge crisis. DC didn't have a very clear consensus on the order of some events, or time periods, but I'm doing my best. It's not a particularly beloved time in the canon, but it is a time where tonnes of earth-shattering drama got dumped at once, including details we now consider staples of the universe, and details that are controversial.**

 **Reviews seem very passionate about this. But I have chosen this time for a reason, because I have a very specific story to tell. Please trust me, as you have in the past.**

* * *

Dick didn't think things could possibly get worse after Barbara dumped him, and then Blockbuster blew up Haly's Circus and his apartment building. And even that wasn't the bottom of the abyss. But once Roland Desmond died, that had to be it, there couldn't be anything lower than that.

Then came the gang wars. Then he was called back in to a war-torn Gotham, then came the death of Spoiler, the public reveal of her identity as Robin, Commissioner Akins declaring all vigilantes criminals and being shot at by cops who were once on Nightwing's side.

It couldn't get worse than that, but it did. Leslie left, Barbara lost the Clocktower, Tim's dad and stepmom, Red Hood, the list went on, and then he was working as a mob enforcer. The troubles kept piling higher and Dick felt himself sinking deeper, but he was sure he'd finally hit rock bottom when Deathstroke came knocking.

And then Social Services showed up on his doorstep.

The only thing that kept him from jumping off a building was the screaming bundle of supposed joy who needed him, who was ironically the thing driving him right to the edge. But Dick was so far out of his depth, and the more RJ screamed, the more he hated himself. Bad enough that he ruined the lives of those around him, but now he was creating new lives just to make them miserable? He was already doomed to Hell several times over, but he was sure there was a special circle reserved just for fathers who made their babies cry.

He paced the small motel room with RJ as best he could, hating how stiff his leg felt and knowing it would have fully healed months ago if he hadn't been fighting crime on it, and also knowing that he really deserved to have taken the bullet in the head. That would have been the fair thing, cosmic karma and all that. Of course, then RJ would have no one to watch him, but he would have been born to some happy family if Dick didn't look so good in a crime-fighting leotard, so they were caught in a paradox of retribution.

No wonder RJ cried all the time. If he had even the slightest sense of who he'd been born to, he'd turn his head to the sky and demand a do-over.

Dick kept bouncing RJ and singing children's songs under his breath, sometimes achieving calm in his child for a few seconds, but it never lasted long. He woefully cast his eyes to the classified section of the newspaper he'd strewn across the bed, the crumpled dollar bills and spare change he'd dumped from his wallet, the bag of diapers, the bottles of formula, the blankets and the one spare, soiled set of baby clothes. He needed more clothes. And detergent, to wash them in. He needed a crib, and a stroller or carrier, he'd need more food and diapers. Medicine, ointment, a thermometer, and a job to pay for it all with. Daycare, so he could go to the job, and money, to pay for the daycare so he could go earn the money. And a toy. Maybe this poor baby stuck in this awful hell-hole with the stupid murder accomplice for a father might like to have a toy so life didn't suck so bad. Dick hadn't even thought about that, nearly two weeks into this.

Maybe if he sold off all his Wingdings...

A knock at the door shook Dick out of his thoughts, only to be sent down a new rabbit hole. Cold panic gripped him, and he clutched RJ to his chest while the room suddenly seemed to close in on him. Someone was at the door, someone knew he was here, someone cared enough to track him down. He couldn't breathe, sucking in air was the most laborious task of his life, and he sat down on the floor before his legs collapsed and did the job for him.

"Why, why, why, why, why?" he whispered to RJ, kissing the top of his little head because that seemed like the right thing to do, and it was the only pleasant thing in this sea of chaos. But as much as his brain didn't want to cooperate, Dick leaned against the bed and tried to breathe and think at the same time.

He hoped it wasn't more angry neighbors complaining about the baby, he couldn't deal with any more of that. It couldn't be the police, Amy wasn't letting them charge him, even after Dick turned himself in. And anyway, that was a long, _long_ time ago. Awful as it seemed, he actually had bigger problems than his role in Roland Desmond's murder. If Deathstroke was on the other side of that door, Dick might just pass out.

But the voice who called his name was so soft and gentle that Dick almost didn't hear it over RJ's crying. "Dick? I know you're here."

Cassandra Cain. Batgirl. She was supposed to be in Bludhaven, last he'd heard, anyway. Like he deserved to be kept in the loop about anything anymore. What could she possibly need? Then again, if it was Cass... It could have been important, she might have trouble after her. Someone needed Dick, and as long as he was needed, he'd force himself to his feet and choke down the part of him that had been wanting to lay down and cry himself to death for the past nine months or so.

He opened the door, but found he couldn't greet Cassandra as his voice was stuck in his throat. And RJ was squirming like a worm on a hook, an impressive feat for someone who'd only just figured out how to use most of those muscles. So the two of them stood on the threshold while the baby howled its unhappiness at life, until Cassandra finally cleared her throat.

"Alfred said... you had a baby." Good ol'Cass, never one to waste time on preamble. "May I meet him?" Somewhat numb at the knowledge that his trust had been betrayed, Dick nodded and allowed her to enter. If the butler had told Cassandra, he'd probably told Bruce as well, which meant Dick's death knell was tolling. It was time to make his peace with the world, for a large, angry bat would soon swoop in to make him leave it.

Dick just hoped it would be quick and painless. "RJ, meet Cassandra. I'm sorry, he never stops crying," he apologized as the baby continued to shriek, but Cassandra appeared fascinated by the noise.

"He looks like you," she appraised, but her initial hint of a smile soon faltered. "Does Barbara know?"

Dick swallowed. _Barbara..._ "No. I haven't told many people."

"Just Alfred?"

"Yeah. And now you, so that's two." They'd all find out eventually, and Dick wasn't ready to face everything that came with that. But thankfully Cassandra had a quiet nature, and she kept any judgments to herself.

"May I hold him?" Dick was all too grateful for the offer, and as soon as Cass was settled on the bed with RJ held gingerly in her arms, he collapsed next to her and let out a sigh of relief. Was it bad that it felt so good to have someone else taking the responsibility away for a bit? Should he feel this happy that he wasn't holding his son?

But he couldn't relax and think on that for long. If he let go of his control any more, he might start sobbing again, and this time he knew he'd never stop.

Speaking of... "Why is he crying?"

"I really wish I knew," Dick rolled over a little and ran his finger up and down the side of RJ's face. It was meant to be a soothing gesture, for all the poor baby seemed to notice. "I take him to the clinic once a day, but they keep telling me nothing's wrong. I'm feeding him regularly, changing his diapers, all the stuff I'm supposed to do." That anxious, panicked feeling ratcheted up a couple notches. "He barely sleeps. Something has to be wrong, but I can't figure it out."

"Maybe he's not used to you yet?" Cassandra joked over the sound of RJ's sobs, but Dick couldn't laugh. He just set his mouth in a grim line and tried not to break or have a brain aneurysm or even just pass out and fall asleep.

Of course, this might be his only opportunity... "You're looking for a job?" Cassandra broke him out of that thought, indicating the 'help wanted' section of the classifieds lying on the bed. Several ads were circled, but though Dick had called them all, they'd been dead ends so far. There was one left to call him back, one last hope.

"Yeah, baby formula doesn't buy itself. But it's not going so good. If this last construction site doesn't call me back, I don't know what we're gonna do." Because it was 'we' now. Him and RJ. Life was so much simpler when Dick only had himself to look after, and now he was responsible for a new little life, one that hated him and was trying to break his eardrums.

"Bruce could help." Dick's whole body froze at Cassandra's suggestion, paralyzed at the mere thought of asking. "You think he won't?"

Mustering up enough coherent thoughts and breath to voice them with was difficult when his mentor was added into the bedlam that currently occupied Dick's brain. So he stroked RJ's cheek for a few seconds while he calmed down from the panic.

"Bruce Wayne is a good man," he finally said in a soft voice. "He'd make sure RJ got to a good home if anything happened to me." Which was a small comfort, considering Bruce himself would likely be responsible for 'anything happening'. He really wasn't looking forward to the inevitable moment of confrontation, his heart might just give up on that whole beating thing.

With a groan, Dick tore himself away from the baby and back to the classifieds. "But he's not exactly the babysitting type. And I can't even get a job interview without someone here to watch RJ, and if I got the job, I'd have to find a sitter or daycare..." He could picture Bruce's narrowed eyes and flared nostrils at being asked to watch Dick's illegitimate child, could already hear the lectures about handouts and responsibility. And everything else... he'd be lucky if Bruce just got him locked up in Blackgate. Two parents in prison, lucky RJ.

After years of failing to meet Bruce's standards or following in his footsteps, taking jobs as a bartender or a cop, dropping out of college, years of being called a charity case and accused of tricking Bruce into adopting him in order to get at the Wayne fortune, after all that, Dick absolutely could not ask for money, or any other help. Bruce was already going to disown him, already going to kill him, why make it more torturous than it had to be? "But I don't want to leave him with a stranger if he's suffering like this. If he's this upset, I can't just run off and..." he trailed off, suddenly aware that he could hear himself think. "What the...?"

"He's not crying," Cassandra proclaimed with a hushed triumph, and indeed, RJ had quieted down to some melancholy sniffles, gazing up at her with wide, brown eyes.

At first Dick could only stare, then he hung his bitter head. "It really is just me, huh?"

Cassandra ignored that, only to bring up a subject even more depressing. "Can his mom help watch him?"

Dick had to grab the bed to make sure he didn't fall _off_ , so quickly did the world tilt on him. His throat felt raw and full of crushed glass as he tried to speak. "No. No, she can't." Could death by dehydration come on this suddenly? "She wouldn't want to, anyway."

"Oh." A beat. "You aren't together anymore?"

"We never really were." He'd gone to seen her once, since the social workers contacted him. Just for a second, which was one second more than he was ready for. It wasn't really a conversation, little more than a "congratulations, guido, it's a boy," and a firm declaration that she wanted nothing more to do with the whole business. And still bitter that he'd turned her in. "I suppose I should be grateful she even carried the baby to term." He didn't wish she hadn't. Never. No matter how much he hated everything right now, Dick would never wish for that. He couldn't _ever_ wish for that.

"But you must have felt something for her if you... had a baby together." He didn't like the way Cassandra was looking at him, and forced himself to watch RJ instead. Little munchkin was pretty cute when he calmed down. "You didn't love her?"

He wouldn't answer that, not now and maybe not ever. But even his silence spoke volumes to someone like Cassandra, who could read his body language and was surely discovering all of Dick's secrets. He couldn't force a smile onto his face, but he bashed down all his complicated emotions and channeled his inner Bruce Wayne in an attempt to hide from the current Batgirl's scrutiny.

A futile effort. "Dick... you didn't want this to happen?"

And oh, Dick almost broke right there, the realization crashing into him like a tsunami. RJ was a baby now, but he was going to grow up, he was going to _hear,_ children absorbed information like sponges and he'd find the truth if it was out there. Bad enough that his mother abandoned him with an unprepared and inept father, Dick couldn't let RJ know the truth about his conception, couldn't let him think his dad didn't want him either. It would be too horrible to let a child carry all of that, and it wasn't RJ's fault, he didn't ask to be born any more than Dick had asked for...

He could never tell anyone. From now on, if anyone asked, Dick wanted it, now and back then, he'd loved RJ's mother, there was nothing sad or dark, nothing twisted or wrong about any of this. The truth would stay buried, and Dick would take it all the way to his _grave._

"I wasn't planning for it," he was finally able to say. "But I wouldn't trade it for the world." Cassandra seemed to accept that, and Dick felt like throwing up. Barely two weeks into fatherhood and he was already lying in front of his kid.

Well, maybe it wasn't all a lie. "Hear that, munchkin? I love you." Because he did, a fact he'd just discovered and it was kind of a shock to realize it. Maybe it wouldn't be enough, but it was something. And he thought he saw a smile from the baby, but it was probably his imagination, since RJ suddenly became preoccupied with attacking Cassandra's breast. "Oh, yes, lunchtime always trumps expressions of love."

Cass held the baby out a few inches and stared with a new-found curiosity. Dick just laughed and jumped up to warm a bottle before RJ started to fuss again. "How does he even know to do that? He's been totally bottle-fed, how does he know where the milk comes from?"

"Instinct?" Cassandra offered, before getting a positively dopey look on her face. "Mr. Smart baby, yes you are, such a smarty pants..." And then she blew raspberries.

"Um..." It was a very new side to Cassandra, and Dick wondered for a minute if he'd wandered into a parallel dimension.

But, then again, he was smiling. There was a little fluttering of something in his heart that wasn't terror, sickness or self-loathing, and it retained its presence even as RJ decided to throw back his head and start wailing again. If this was some alternate dimension where he'd fathered a child and Batgirl did baby talk, well, Dick thought he wouldn't mind staying for a bit longer.


	3. Chapter 3

Cassandra knew Dick hadn't got the job the second he walked back in the door. His posture said it all. He returned to the hotel room a beaten and broken man, barely hanging on to hope by his fingernails. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him like that, not that Dick ever talked about it. But Cassandra saw things during the gang wars, she saw the despair in his eyes, the way his body flinched and pulled away from the woman that they all assumed was his girlfriend, the way he lingered a little too long in the presence of firing guns, the way he shrank from the Batman and the total lack of joy in his countenance.

Something happened to Dick, or maybe everything happened to Dick, but there was too much going on to ask and then he disappeared into some mission. All of them did, running off to hide from Gotham and all its ghosts, but even if she hadn't, Cassandra didn't know how she would have broached the subject. Choosing tactful words had never been her strong point, and as much as Nightwing was a friend, she wasn't sure if they were close enough for a heart to heart. She relied on other people for that, while she offered the physical support. It was easier to sit with someone for companionship than to try and dig up complex words for emotions and string together compound sentences.

But even observing evidence now, she wasn't particularly sure what was wrong or what Nightwing needed. Her natural instinct was to go to Bruce, even if he and Dick were going through a rough patch. And she hadn't thought Dick was _destitute_ , but his financial situation had never been her business. In the past, Dick had a multitude of friends who would have moved heaven and earth for him, but asking about them now seemed to drive him into a depression. So when he walked through the door looking like it was the end of the world, she didn't understand why, but she did understand that he believed it wholeheartedly.

"He's crying again." She held the baby out to Dick, thinking that might make it better for one of them, though it seemed this was the last thing Dick wanted to hear at the moment. Dick looked ready to collapse, but he took his son from Cassandra with gentle arms, trying and failing to shush the child.

Then he frowned. "There's something different. His crying's changed."

"How can you tell?" It all sounded like screaming to her, but Dick insisted he knew the difference, and this was somehow different crying than the near-endless wailing he'd been hearing for almost two weeks.

"I just know, okay? He's in pain. Help me pack up his stuff, I'm taking him to the clinic." Cassandra did as instructed, though it seemed taking a baby outside the house required more packing than a camping trip, and once they had all the required gear, they left the motel and began walking. She couldn't help but notice the other residents looked relived to see them go.

"How far?"

"Not too far, a couple blocks," Dick answered. He nuzzled RJ a little bit. "It's gonna be fine, kiddo, I heard you. We'll take you to the doctor and get this figured out, okay?" His voice was soothing, but his face was still afraid. "I wish Leslie was still talking to us..."

He could wish that. But after what Cassandra had heard about Stephanie, she didn't want Dr. Thompkins anywhere near her friends. If the woman ever came back from Africa, it would be too soon.

But those angry thoughts wouldn't do her any good, nor would it bring Stephanie back to them. So she banished the thought of her best friend and that betrayal, and focused back on the tiny baby Dick carried. That was much more pleasant, a happy occurrence in this sea of black and chaos. Babies were bundles of joy, or so the saying went, and even one who screamed as much as RJ was a miracle. There was death in Gotham, but there was also life.

The whole situation was blowing her mind, to be honest. Just imagining Dick as a father, imagining any of them with a family was surreal. Of course they were a family in spirit, a team, and Bruce had legally adopted Dick some time ago, but this was somehow different. Watching Dick cuddle, watching him sacrifice, watching him protect and clean and feed and plan for the future with all his own needs secondary was... touching.

This was what it was like to have a real father.

And the baby! She'd always known on an abstract level what her body was capable of in that arena, despite being raised only to fight, but seeing the end result added a new dimension. With no words and no guidance, she'd learned by experience what to expect every month, but it had taken Barbara and Stephanie to explain _why_ it happened, the purpose for which her body did these things, and now it seemed so incredible. A woman had grown this little human being inside of her, a tiny, helpless thing discovering the world one day at a time, to which every sight, sound and sensation was incredible. And it would learn, grow and change. Even now, RJ saw her face come in to view and his eyes focused on her, soon he would respond back and one day he might talk to her or even learn from her. Maybe they could practice reading together.

A little thing carrying Dick's genetics, a piece of himself to live on in the world. Stephanie had given birth before; somewhere in the world existed a small piece of her. And that thought was comforting. Her friend was dead, but not completely gone.

She should tell that to Tim. Maybe it would give him peace as well.

But her musings were interrupted by the click of a gun, and she whipped her head around to find a man standing behind them, gun pointed at Dick. He was young, perhaps a bit older than she but definitely younger than Dick, yet his stature was large and broad-shouldered enough to intimidate despite his age. But the most unsettling thing for Cassandra was the helmet, a smooth, red metal that hid his face from her. As a fighter who picked up on her opponent's visual cues, it was a loss to have the face cut off, easily the most expressive part of the body.

Still, that's not to say this man with the red hood didn't communicate to her. She knew instantly that he didn't intend to rob them, also that he was relaxed and familiar with his weapon of choice. She also detected that he would blow off Dick's head in a heartbeat if his temper was hit, but that he might let them go if he wasn't provoked. And she knew Dick's reflexes were definitely impaired when holding an infant and a diaper bag. So Cassandra resisted the urge to attack and remained still, waiting for his next move.

Dick, too, was calm in demeanor, though his internal thoughts were clearly in chaos. But he appeared very relaxed for a man with a gun to his back. "Can I help you?"

"Move. Into the alley, no questions. Both of you. Try anything and I shoot." They silently obeyed, and all four of them slipped into the dark shadows of the alley. It wasn't the worst neighborhood in Gotham, but it wasn't a great one either, dingy enough that a daytime shooting wouldn't be out of place, and the residents would probably walk with their heads down and not look twice into the corners. With the recent gang wars still in people's memories, a call for help might fall on deaf ears, for no one would risk retaliation.

That didn't make them doomed, it just made the situation tricky, so Cassandra kept her eyes and ears open as their opponent backed Dick and herself into a brick wall. "If it's money you want, I don't have any," Dick began, but he was cut off when the man with the helmet delivered a swift kick to his gut. Cassandra jumped forward but the gun compelled her to move back again, and the man laughed to see Dick wheezing and trying not to drop RJ after the blow.

"If I wanted money, I'd just run back to Daddy. That's an option you don't have, right?" He kicked Dick again, not as hard, but in the leg that was still achy from the old gunshot wound, and Dick gave a visible wince. "Hard to imagine you with a kid, Dickiebird. But I guess it was bound to happen sometime, the way you whore around."

"Do I know you?" Dick choked back, finally able to stand up straight again. If RJ's howling was loud before, it doubled itself now, and even their assailant tensed up at the noise.

"Hmph, you never bothered to. Not that I care. But this isn't about you, Golden Boy, it's about-"

"Jason?" That stopped everything. The man with the helmet froze up. Cassandra did, too. She'd heard rumors, Tim had said something about an attack on Titans Tower and then there was a new vigilante in Gotham, but no one had come out and confirmed it for her. Maybe they felt she didn't need to know. For all she idolized Batman, he did keep secrets and information from his allies, even things he should have shared. "That is you, isn't it? I heard you were alive, Bruce said it was-"

"Shut up. None of that matters, you hear?" The man, apparently the late Jason Todd, just clenched his fingers around his gun. "You're here for one reason, so you and your little girlfriend can die, shot in an alley just like his parents. Maybe then he'll start taking that mission of his seriously."

"What? Jason, that makes no sense!"

"I'm not his girlfriend," Cassandra added, despite that not actually being a relevant detail. Jason didn't seem to care either way, and Dick was too busy brimming with emotion to notice. She wasn't sure he even saw the gun anymore.

"Jason, you're alive," he breathed, barely heard over the baby's screaming, and dared to take a step forward. "How? This is amazing!"

"Is it? Is it amazing?" The other boy raged, while Cassandra observed. He was tense, confused, conflicted. He wasn't preparing to shoot, but he would go back to that in a second if he caught her trying to disarm him, so she would have to wait for a better opening. But for now, she saw such anger, hurt and betrayal rolling off this infamous Jason Todd. He was a person only known through anecdotes, only real for the memorial in the Batcave.

And now he was alive. One Robin was dead, another was resurrected. The Circle of Life.

"How?" she asked in a level tone, wanting answers as much as a need to distract Jason.

He swiveled his head to look at her, though she couldn't see his expression behind the helmet. "Who are you, anyway? Why do you keep hanging around these people?" Answering a question with some of his own, but if he was focused on talking to Cassandra, he wasn't focused on shooting Dick. And since he already knew about the mission, she decided to blindside him with her trump card.

"I'm Batgirl."

Dick stared, like he couldn't believe she'd just done that, and Jason was so shocked he almost dropped the gun. "The fu- Does Babs know about this?" he whirled back on Dick, "And shut that baby up, it's gonna bring every cop in the state!"

RJ had been wailing his little head off the whole time, and Cassandra was a little surprised it hadn't drawn more attention. Then again, as she herself predicted, this was a bad neighborhood in Gotham, still recovering from gang occupation. No one was going to stick their necks out, and a crying baby wasn't so uncommon anyway.

Dick just sighed. "Would if I could, trust me. But he needs a doctor, so if you let us go-"

"Shut him up," Jason growled, lowering his gun in the direction of RJ's head, "Or he goes along with the both of you."

That threat sounded real, and Dick immediately started bouncing the child gently in his arms, and cooing a little at it. "Come on, kiddo, got to do what the nice man with the gun says..." RJ didn't quiet down completely, but the volume lowered a little with some attention, and once they could all hear their own voices again, Jason turned back to Cassandra.

"Batgirl," he sneered. "Wow, old Bats really doesn't have a problem replacing his soldiers, does he?" Cassandra wanted to argue, but the wording hit a little too close to home, it was too soon for her. Remembering how Gotham really did turn into a war zone, the destruction and violence, the way Stephanie died and knowing that she was only really recruited to be Robin to get Tim out of retirement... She didn't have the same resentment towards Batman that Dick and Tim expressed over the issue, and the countless others before that, but it still hurt.

"It was mostly Barbara's idea, so get off your soapbox," Dick muttered between notes of 'Itsy Bitsy Spider'. "Besides, I've given all those speeches already and it's never made a shred of difference."

"Yeah, Golden Boy, you know all about being replaced, don't you?" Jason snarled. "You're such a _martyr_. Just a homeless little charity case to throw away once he got a real son!" The words seemed to be stabbing Dick in the chest, but Cassandra thought they were hurting Jason just as much. "Tell me this, though: if you're so worthless to him, how come he never stops talking about you? If you're so replaceable, how come he acts like _you're_ the one he adopted? And if you hate him so much, why were you always hanging around? He was my dad, Grayson, not yours! You couldn't even let me have that?" He shoved the gun in Dick's face. "He wanted _me_ , not you! I'm the one he adopted and you're never going to be his son in a million years, so why were you always trying to steal what's mine?"

The part that bothered Cassandra the most, more than the observation that Jason was clearly a bit disturbed, was that Dick seemed to be taking the spewed nonsense to heart. "He is Bruce's son," she broke in, calm and matter-of-fact. "Bruce _did_ adopt him."

Dick looked pained. "Cass, this probably isn't a good time for that..." But he was wrong, because this wasn't just about sticking up for Dick, but about outwitting Jason. He was unstable and trigger-happy, but also lost and confused. He wouldn't kill someone with valuable information, not until he'd gotten what he wanted, and bombarding him with new information kept him off balance. He was clearly familiar with guns and killing, but he wasn't a heartless sociopath, and Jason wouldn't kill if he thought there was a risk of regret.

She just needed to keep his world tilted and off-balance enough to make him hesitate. "Bruce adopted him. They're family."

And Jason actually lowered his gun. He turned to Dick and ripped off his helmet, though it only revealed a domino mask underneath. "Is that true?" His voice tried to be low and threatening, but it squeaked, and Cassandra knew she was right. This was an angry young man, who didn't know what he wanted, didn't know how he felt underneath the surface emotion. Not a monster.

Just a boy. "Yeah, it's true." There was a short pause, filled only by RJ's sniffling. "You okay?"

Jason deflated for a second, probably unconsciously. "He replaced me. Replaced me in every way. How long was I in the ground before he went out and adopted you, huh? Did he even wait until after the funeral?"

"It was barely a year and a half ago. But you took my costume, so you want to just call it even?" Jason took a step back and shook his head.

"So, let me get this straight, you and I are..." he almost choked on the word, "We're _brothers_ now?" The only one more at a loss was Dick.

"Oh my God..." he whispered, looking as if he'd been hit over the head. A perfect mirror of Jason. "I never thought about it like that, but... you're my... brother... wow. I have a little brother..." Even RJ seemed to sense the gravity of the situation, and quieted down for a second.

"So how is this supposed to work?" Jason blew up. "We're just this big, happy family now? I just got back from the dead and now the guy I hate the most is telling me he's my big brother, and Babs has been replaced by Crouching Tiger, Hidden Batgirl! And that thing there..." he indicated the baby in Dick's arms. "Does that make me an _uncle?_ "

"I guess, as far as the law is concerned. I won't be offended if you don't send me cards at Christmas or whatever." Seeing the lull in the danger, Dick took a step forward. "Look, this is weirding me out, too, okay? But everything's so torn apart and complicated around here, so if you hate it all, that's fine. This can be whatever you want it to be." Jason nodded in a daze, and fully let his gun fall to his side.

This was the opening that Cassandra was waiting for, but he seemed docile now, not giving any physical indicators of threat. She couldn't bring herself to attack him now. Jason looked down at RJ, still squirming and mewling. "You have a kid. I have a nephew. This is..." He threw his arms up in the air. "This is nuts! How did you people manage to mess my life up _more?_ "

"It's a gift," Dick quipped, and Cassandra thought it was a real miracle that Jason didn't change his mind and shoot him.

In the end, he escorted them to the clinic and threatened nurses until they took RJ and agreed to run every possible test under the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

Jason sat cross-legged on the floor of the motel room and tried not to explode. He'd gone through a lot in his little coming back from the dead adventure, including a fair amount of questioning reality and the possibility of parallel dimensions, but this...

This was Dick "Golden Child" Grayson, stick up his butt and chip on his shoulder, who treated everything like a joke when he wasn't being a self-righteous drama queen, making faces and singing "Hush Little Baby."

Maybe he was still dead. "I hate waiting," Batgirl complained. Apparently her name was Cassandra. Jason didn't want to get too attached, but he was kind of starting to like her after she'd totally handed his rear end to him back at the clinic for firing a gun. He'd only hit a couch cushion; it was just an intimidation tactic, to hurry things along, but she was a Bat through and through, and guns were _Bad_.

Dick, however, hadn't said anything, and that was weird. He'd been waiting for the "guns make you just like them" lecture since he showed up, the old Dick would have been all up in his case for that. This new Dick, though, he clearly disapproved but said nothing. Almost looked guilty.

What on earth happened while he was out?

"They said they'd call us when they had the results," Jason reminded Cassandra for the five hundredth time. Not that he enjoyed waiting in the stupid motel room any more than she did. He didn't even know why he followed the two of them back, since his original plans for Gotham were getting outrageously off-track. He'd imagined dramatic speeches and Bruce in tears, a Joker with his brains bashed in, cleaning up the streets the right way, maybe even setting fire to Arkham and Blackgate. Then the return of the Dynamic Duo, after Bruce finally grovelled enough, Batman and whatever Jason felt like calling himself, no mercy for scumbags, and if Dick and the Replacement hung up their masks in disgrace because they could never be as awesome as he was, well, that would be a nice bonus. Their graves worked, too, Jason wasn't picky.

Or maybe Jason would shoot the Joker in the spine, take a bunch of indecent pictures and let the clown rot for a few months, before delivering the death blow. He owed Babs that much, and deep down, he knew Bruce was always going to choose the Joker, no matter how many times Jason tried to set up a 'me or him' scenario. Batman made his choice a long time ago, and Jason would have to find validation some other way.

Or he could just burn Gotham to the ground. Be like Noah, or Joshua, and just wipe it out to start from scratch. Hey, if it was good enough for God, why not? And if there was ever a modern day equivalent to Sodom and Gomorrah, it was Gotham City. He'd save that one diner on 3rd Street, though, the one that put bits of bacon in their pancakes. He wasn't a monster.

Those were his plans, vague and flexible as they were. So why was he sitting in a ratty motel with two morons and their cranky baby? "The docs said he was fine, so just calm down."

"He's not fine. Something's wrong," Dick insisted, cradling the helplessly sobbing, sausage-shaped thing that Jason was apparently now related to. RJ, they called it. Dick Junior. Last time he saw Dick, he was dating aliens and swearing that he wanted nothing to do with Batman or Gotham except, of course, for every other weekend when he found some excuse to drop by the manor and angst. Now Dick was adopted, and had fathered a completely human child.

Jason was never going to get used to this.

"I can tell! He's suffering, and I can't _do_ anything!" Dick started up his bouncing technique again, which Jason would have described more as a bunch of mini-squats, but it did sometimes shut the kid up for a few seconds, and since that and shoving a bottle in it's mouth were the only two things that occasionally worked, Jason wasn't going to tease. Though RJ still teared up even while sucking down milk, so Dick was probably right to be skeptical of the doctor's words.

Still, until the results came back, they didn't have anything to go on. "Maybe Leslie knows a specialist?" Jason suggested, and that was the wrong thing to say. Cassandra looked like she was going to stab something, and Dick had to look away. "What?"

"You missed a lot while you were gone," Dick's voice was hollow. "Leslie's out of the country, volunteer stuff, and she's not ever coming back."

Weird. "I'm guessing this wasn't motivated by altruism," Jason dryly said. "What did Bruce do to her?"

"Not Bruce. You've got it backwards," Cassandra grumbled, and Jason gaped.

"No way. What kind of crazy story is that?"

"A long one. And neither of us is in the mood to tell it." Well, that snippy attitude of Dick's was familiar, at least. Jason huffed and played with his gun while Dick lifted up RJ and sniffed his behind. "Again? Didn't I just change you?"

"Can I?" Cassandra immediately jumped up. She'd been overly enthusiastic about all things baby, begging to feed, burp and hold little RJ whenever she could. Freak. Jason didn't want to do more than poke the thing, which was probably good, because he didn't think Dick wanted him any closer to his kid than he already was. "Will you show me how?"

"Sure, if you want." Dick passed the infant over to Cassandra and patted the little boy's head. "A clean diaper might make you feel a little better, huh?" But before they could set about that task, there was a knock at the door.

And Jason got to witness Dick having a small panic attack, throat closing up until his breathing sounded like a bad seal imitation. "Dude? It's just a door, calm down." This was the same guy who jumped between moving trains with a blindfold?

Cassandra just watched for a second, then shifted the baby so she could put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "We're here. Nothing can hurt you." Since when did the great Dick Grayson need protection? But the reassurance seemed to do something for him, and the breathing at least got under control. When Jason caught Dick's eyes, he was taken aback by the helplessness and the hopelessness he found there. If one person was the light in the dark, the torch that inspired all and never let itself die, it was Nightwing.

Someone had broken Dick Grayson.

Jason had his gun cocked and ready before he had a chance to think about it. "Yeah, whatever comes through that door isn't getting close enough to touch you." From a murder plot to defending Dick-head in just a few hours. Maybe Bruce was right, maybe Jason should seek professional help.

And speaking of the devil... "I know you're in there!" World's Greatest Detective, indeed. With the way the baby was carrying on, the entire population of Thanagar probably knew they were in there. As Dick seemed too busy having a heart attack to be a good host, Jason took it upon himself to answer the door. No sense delaying the inevitable, after all. And if they gave Bruce another second, he'd probably bust the door down.

So Jason flung it open and flashed his most evil smile. "How's it going, B?"

The naked shock on Bruce's face was priceless, and Jason wished he had a camera. Or a phone, apparently those things could take pretty amazing videos now, he'd post it to YouTube and let "flabbergasted anal-retentive man" go viral.

But Bruce rallied himself quickly. "Jason. What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my big brother." Oh, another Kodak moment. "Or is he my _little_ brother, since I was adopted first?"

"Jason, it's not-"

"You know, it would have been nice if you'd told me that earlier. Told me that dumb Tim kid was your new Robin, Dick-head is your new son, it would have been nice to know that I have _no place left in your life_ before I showed up and started making a fool of myself." Before admitting that Bruce meant something to him, that he actually cared about any of this. "Maybe I'll just fully commit to this replacing the Joker thing, he's the only one of us you ever really loved, anyway."

"Jason!"

"That is enough." That elderly, accented voice was enough to freeze Jason where he stood, and Bruce was actually pushed out of the doorway by a pair of thin, bony hands to reveal Alfred Pennyworth, eyes misty with tears.

Jason could honestly say he'd never seen that before. "Alfred..."

"My dear boy," the butler trembled. "My child... Have I taught you no manners at all? When were you going to stop by and visit me?"

"I... uh..." But he was spared from speaking when Alfred drew him into an embrace, and all Jason could think of was that all his plans for Gotham were now completely derailed. "I'm sorry, Alfred..."

"Master Jason," the old man said with such warmth, "You have been sorely missed." And when Alfred said things like that, Jason almost believed it.

But that little interlude was enough for Bruce to get back to his original purpose. The man stepped over to Dick and Jason reluctantly pulled out of Alfred's arms to watch. "What's going on here?"

"Well, I ran into Jason on the street, and-"

"The _baby,_ Dick!"

Dick stammered and generally seemed about to pass out, and a thought occurred to Jason. "Wait, you don't know? Golden Boy knocked up a girl and never told you?" This story was getting better and better. "Did I get reincarnated inside a soap opera?"

"This doesn't concern you, Jason."

"You sure? Hmph. And here I thought we were a family." There went Bruce's facepalm, good to know Jason still had it. Alfred gave a gentle touch to Jason's arm, a small entreaty that he not rile the others up too much, and Jason gave a dramatic sigh to show what he felt about that. Alfred bestowed one of his hidden smiles in return, before stepping over to help Cassandra, who had stripped the sleeper off of RJ and was now looking utterly dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, Bruce could have leveled the Pentagon with the look he was giving Dick. "There is _so_ much I could say to you right now..." And Jason had a feeling he was going to say all of it. But it was fun to watch Bruce seething and unable to untangle all his different lecture points from his giant knot of emotion. Watching Bruce from an outside perspective was fun, a psychological exercise when he was calm, and a half-time show when he wasn't, but somehow Jason never managed to internalize the things he observed and apply them when actually being lectured by the man. Maybe because he was short-tempered and stubborn in his own way, but his fuses usually blew about the same time as Bruce's did, so their arguments were short and just ended with a few glares and some slammed doors.

Just one of the many ways he was different from Dick-face. _Those_ mentor/pupil arguments were _long_ , and Jason wasn't sure they'd ever actually ended.

For now, it was just impressive that Dick was managing to stand up straight under the increased gravity Bruce brought with him. "I have everything under control."

"Obviously." How Bruce crammed so much judgment, frustration and disapproval into his sarcasm, Jason would never know, but he did like it when someone else was on the receiving end.

"Well, I do!" A few feet away, Alfred had noticed the odor of RJ's diaper, and was tutting and tsking that this would never do. Bruce watched for a few seconds with just his eyes, the lecture-face still trained on Dick, and when his eyes flitted back, there was a tug of a smirk. Imperceptible to those who didn't know him, but damning to those with the experience of having to stand under his scrutiny.

"He needs his diaper changed. That _might_ be why he's crying," Bruce said with so much patronizing it might have actually de-aged everyone in the room. "It should be one of the first things you check."

"I know that," Dick muttered, for all it mattered.

"You've always been stubborn, but this..." Bruce shook his head and uttered some sort of sighing grunt. "Why didn't you come to me for help?"

"I couldn't..."

"Why? Your pride?" Bruce snapped back, and Dick visibly flinched. "You clearly have no idea what you're doing! Isn't that kid worth your precious ego?" When he received no answer, Bruce continued on with the tirade. "You're living in a _motel_ , Dick! You came to Alfred in _tears_ , don't even try to pretend you can do this without my help!"

Speaking of Alfred. "Sir, I must insist you lower your voice. All this noise is most unpleasant for a small child, and I'm not partial to it either." Good old Alfie, undercutting the tension with his authority and cordial sass. Bruce obeyed the rebuke, and his voice returned to a conversational level.

"What about your trust fund? You should have more than enough to live comfortably."

"I closed it out."

"What?"

"I donated the money to the circus, and the BPD, and the families of the people who lived in my apartment building," Dick explained, and Jason found himself tuning out of all this stuff he didn't care about. Not that much else interesting was going on, besides RJ's diaper situation. "I tried to repair as much damage as I could. All those people were only hurt because they knew me! I just... wanted to make things better."

Jason had been caught up watching Cassandra and Alfred, because really, there was no reason anyone should be that excited about diaper changing and maybe the chick needed to be monitored, but he heard the shift in Bruce's tone, and that compelled him to give back his focus. "Well that's very philanthropic of you, but what were you going to _live_ off of?" It wasn't a loud voice, still quiet, but hard as steel. "Did you even think of that? You don't have a job, and now you've liquidated most of your assets! How exactly were you expecting to get by?"

"I didn't think I'd need it," Dick mumbled, very softly.

"Exactly! You didn't think! And now you have a child to support!" Jason wondered if Bruce heard Dick speak the same words he just did, or if he was pretending not to. "Why would you be so reckless?"

"Oh, you know Dick-head, he's always got to be the victim," Jason interrupted, feeling the need suddenly to be part of this conversation. Besides, it was either that or dirty diapers. "Poor me, my life is so hard, nobody understands! If he can do it the hard way, we all know he's going to." He wasn't sure if he was condemning Dick or trying to get him to fight back. Maybe both, he was supposed to be crazy, after all. "But go ahead, play the sympathy card."

"Stay out of this, Jason." Bruce's tone was just like it was when he was young. The problems were more grown up, but the situation was the same. It was like he never left. "And put the gun away. I'll deal with you next."

"Hey, I haven't done anything wrong! In the past few hours," he amended when Bruce growled at him. "It's your perfect kid who's been out shaming the family name."

"Jason Peter!" Ooh, two names. Jason held up his hands in a show of surrender before Bruce decided to add a third. That, and Alfred was giving him a disapproving glance. But in the back of his mind, Jason wondered how these people had such sway over him. Of the entire room, he was the one who was armed, and had threatened most of them. What did he care if they were mad at him? It wasn't like he wanted them to like him, or be proud of him. And yet, when they were in a group, his desire to hurt things went up, but the odds of him actually hurting any of these people went down. It was a strange, frustrating paradox, and right now, the only outlet was the front row seat to watch Dickiebird get served.

Bruce raked a hand through his hair, an unusual gesture for him, but one that showcased his agitation. He was losing control, and they could probably expect a screaming match soon, if Dick pressed the right buttons. "How did this even happen? I thought you were more responsible."

"I'm doing fine!" And Dick was so good at pressing buttons, even when he didn't mean to.

"Oh? Your duties as Nightwing aren't affected? Do you just cram the baby in a backpack and jump out the window?" That was an interesting image. "I was depending on you, Dick! You know how bad things are right now!"

"I know, but-"

"No, no buts! You had responsibilities, that has to factor in when you make judgments. You _have_ to think before you act! I've lectured you on responsibility and protection a million times-"

"Do we have to have this argument in front of everybody?" Dick suddenly blurted out. He looked around the room at the small audience, much as Cassandra and Alfred pretended they weren't listening. Cassandra possibly wasn't, too absorbed in playing peek-a-boo with RJ, with absolutely no positive results. Dick eventually deflated. "I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry for everything... but I'm doing the best I can."

"Yes. Well..." Aw, Bruce was trying so hard not to go completely mental. How cute. "You should have asked for help earlier."

"When? RJ's only a few weeks old and I've only known him about half of that," came Dick's petulant reply. "And you're too deep in cases for anything else." Back when Jason knew them, that statement would have been accusatory.

Now, it was timid and mournful. Self-pitying, even. And Bruce must have picked up on that, too, because he seemed to be holding himself back from just attacking those words. "Who is she?" he asked instead. "The _mother,_ " he had to clarify when Dick feigned ignorance, and his voice promised that Dick wouldn't like it if he had to repeat himself a third time.

Still, Dick tried to deflect. "It doesn't matter. She's not going to be a part of our lives."

"She's already a part of this. _Who is it?_ " There was a long pause. A long stretch of time where a baby shrieked and it was actually kind of welcome, because it allowed the other occupants of the room to pretend they weren't all itching to hear the answer. Jason's money was on Barbara, since the kid wasn't orange or shooting green things out of his eyes, but with Dick's reputation, it could have been anyone. Granted, he wasn't sure how much of that reputation was actually accurate and how much was people just wishing it were true, but still. He listened eagerly when Dick spoke, and almost didn't hear the whispered name over the baby.

"Catalina Flores."

That meant nothing to Jason. Alfred raised an eyebrow, Cassandra pressed her lips in a thin line, and RJ continued crying, though probably not in reaction to the reveal. Bruce, however, could not have looked more shocked and appalled if Superman suddenly started blowing up government buildings.

"...Fuck, Dick-"

"Language, sir!" Alfred sternly reprimanded, but Bruce was beyond caring. He marched forward and towered over his former ward, trembling in fury.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"It wasn't-"

"You realize she murdered Blockbuster, don't you? That she's a criminal who kills without remorse? Did that factor into your judgement, or were you so focused on getting lucky that you threw all your morals out the window?"

"Oh, so you and Selina aren't a thing anymore, is that what I'm hearing?" Jason butted in again, now defending Dick. He really needed to pick a side.

But either way, he went ignored. "Were you thinking at _all?_ You weren't, were you?" he snapped before Dick could voice a protest. "Because what possible excuse could you have? You gave into your basest instincts-"

"Aw, he lived up to his name!" Jason sneered, which did get an eye roll from Cassandra, if not from Dick himself, though the man did grit his teeth a little. There was still a bit of fight in there somewhere.

But Bruce's reaction was terrible. "Shut up, Jason." Not the exasperated or even furious tone he usually used when Jason used to insert himself into these arguments, but dismissive. Cold. Bruce didn't even look over his shoulder. Like Jason wasn't even there, barely a fly buzzing around his ear.

Jason didn't like it at all.

And with that brush-off, Bruce went right back to Dick with single-minded focus. "Did it ever occur to you to use a condom? To take any precaution at all? Or were you just too caught up in the moment to care? Just shut off your brain and let it happen?

"I didn't-!" Dick stopped himself, all of a sudden, and Jason was disappointed because it looked for a minute like this was finally going to be a real fight. Passive Dick Grayson was creeping him out.

But Dick just looked at RJ for a moment, before giving a small shake of his head. "Yup. You got it in one, Bruce," he said, eyes completely dead. "That is exactly what happened. You know me. Can't resist a pretty girl." Somehow, Jason got the feeling he was selling his soul with that admission, but it was enough for Bruce to blow his top, despite Alfred's reprimands to save this discussion for another time and place.

And if Bruce wasn't listening to Alfred, then nothing was going to stop the train. "She knows your name, Dick, knows you intimately, and now you're vulnerable! You think Taratnula isn't going to spill your secrets to whoever gives her the slightest incentive? You think your enemies aren't going to use that baby as a target?" He took a step closer and Dick flinched again, and Jason did, too. He wasn't sure why, watching Dick get reamed out used to be his favorite pastime. "There's far too many already who know you're Nightwing, and if you think just quitting is going to be enough to stay out of danger, you're wrong! You and that baby are going to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your lives!"

That thought seemed to cow Dick, and maybe they were looking at a return of the panic attack. "It's fine, I'll make it okay-"

"How, Dick? Because you haven't been doing a great job so far!" Dick couldn't reply, and Bruce tossed his hands in the air. "I don't know what's wrong with you, lately! You're completely thoughtless, reckless, you make terrible decisions and now you've got a baby to look after! You're going to have to give up being Nightwing, there's no way you can handle that now, and frankly, I think you're recent behavior alone is enough of a reason to take the mask away from you permanently!" Jason expected Dick to get all indignant, like he always did in the past, claim Bruce had no right to fire him and other such rebellion.

So Dick's actual response felt a little out of character. "So why don't you just leave? Fire me and wash your hands of it all? That's what you do, right?" He raised his head, and there was a very tiny bit of heat buried in those nearly dead blue eyes. Just a bit, so close to going out. "Just push away your failures and let them sink on their own. It's what you did to Stephanie."

"Don't you dare blame me for that!" Oh, there was a story there. And the room was now so cold, Batgirl was stiff as a board next to Alfred, who choked back a small gasp. And Bruce was mad, so dark and furious that Jason saw Batman standing there, not a regular guy in a suit. Bruce Wayne was completely gone, replaced by pain and rage.

"Why? Because if I hadn't quit all those years ago, none of this would have happened?" Jason really couldn't tell if Dick was provoking Bruce or being sincere, but he could see the result. He began to suspect the sun outside was actually dimming as a result of this conversation. "I should have just followed your orders without question and you wouldn't have had to fire me. It all went wrong the second I thought I could act on my own, right?"

"Trying to guilt me? I'm not the one who didn't listen, or the one who decided he didn't care about consequences! But fine, play the victim! Curse my name and wallow in misery all you want, but don't you think that child deserves something better?"

"I don't know, you haven't had such a great influence on kids, lately."

And it all happened so fast that Jason couldn't think. Barely a beat of stillness, then Bruce was moving, and Jason was moving, and it was all this blur of held breath and panic. "Bruce! Stop!"

But when it all ground to a halt, when Jason had a few seconds to pant and take stock, he realized he hadn't imagined it. That was Bruce's arm he was clutching with both of his, yes, the momentum was going forward, and yes, that was definitely Dick's shirt collar tangled up in Bruce's fist. And the other first wasn't in the air yet, but it was so close to flying out to join it's brother, vibrating with rage. This was actually happening in front of him, Jason was pulling on Bruce's massive arm with everything he had, there was so much rage and tension and it just _happened_.

Not that he hadn't waited his whole life to watch Dick finally get bopped in the face, but this... "You do know that's _Dick_ in front of you, right? This is your good kid!" Bruce dropped Dick immediately and took a step back, and it was some relief to Jason that some of the fury seemed directed at himself for losing control. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's okay, Jason," Dick began, but Jason cut him off.

"No. It's _not_ okay." And he turned back to Bruce, no longer able to keep from sounding like the teenager he used to be. "When did you get so angry?"

Because this wasn't the man Jason used to know. The man who occasionally called him 'son', who stayed by his bedside when Jason was injured and insisted Robin made him proud. The one who yelled and demanded perfection but gave out compliments and reassurance once patrol was over, who had a small, exasperated smile at the corner of his mouth no matter how deep he was into his lectures. Batman had a dark side, a pain and rage buried deep that fueled everything he did, but he had light, too. There was a joy, a small piece of Bruce Wayne that wasn't for the public and wasn't for Batman, and it belonged to Jason. He was the hero of the night, the father figure Jason never knew he wanted, the friend he could always depend on.

Where had that man gone? "Bruce... What happened to you?"

But he never got an answer, because at that moment a shadow darkened the doorway. "Hey, guys! Am I late to the party?" A small shadow, belonging to a pint-sized voice that was only vaguely familiar to Jason until he turned around. Tim Drake had just arrived. The third Robin.

The Replacement.


	5. Chapter 5

To say Bruce was overwhelmed would be an understatement. Alfred had tried to deliver the news with tact and grace, but there was only so much one could do to slow down a ballistic missile such as Dick's sudden fatherhood. And since that moment, only two thoughts ran through Bruce's mind, the first being: "Not now." Not when Gotham and Bludhaven were ugly pits of inhospitable misery, not in the middle of all this grief, trial and uncertainty. Not when Dick was so young, not when everyone's physical and emotional resources were stretched so thin, not when Dick didn't have the stability of marriage or even a steady girlfriend on his side, not when hints of a planet-wide crisis were growing all the stronger...

And his second thought was, "Why didn't Dick tell me?"

Of course, he might have just answered his own question, now that he had a moment for the rest of his brain to catch up with the part that went on autopilot the second he heard the news. Standing there in the motel, unable to do anything but force air through his flared nostrils and shake, realizing how close he'd come to hitting someone he loved, he began to appreciate that he might not have told himself, either.

That didn't make him any less furious, any less _afraid_ , but Jason's words echoed in his ears, " _When did you get so angry?_ "

Maybe he could pinpoint a few catalysts, Jason's own death being one, but he couldn't remember when it was that he decided that anger was okay. When did Bruce, a master of personal discipline, decide to stop controlling that anger and lash out at the people he loved?

But it was hard to focus on anything beyond the immediacy of all the potential dangers and security breaches he hadn't planned for, the absence of Nightwing in any operations going forward, the practical considerations, the public opinion, the fact that Dick was clearly not responsible enough to raise a child on his own... it was a long list, but at the top was the fact that Dick's behavior of late had been worrying Bruce, for all he didn't know how to reach out, and dumping a baby into the mix didn't ease his mind at all. But still, Dick was keeping secrets and shying away from help, like a stubborn child.

Tim was unaware of all this when he arrived, but took one glance at the scene and then fixed Bruce with such a loaded look and accompanying sigh, as if he knew Bruce's exact train of though and where it led him. And it wasn't pleasurable to have Tim looking down on him like a disappointed parent.

But luckily the boy didn't say anything, and left Bruce to his seething. He breezed into the motel room and dropped several shopping bags and a cake box on the TV stand. "Out of the way, people! Let me see him!" Alfred rightfully guessed he meant RJ, and stepped around the bed with the infant so Tim could inspect it. "Oh, wow, he's so tiny! And loud, I heard those lungs from two blocks over!" He laughed and tickled RJ's tummy, the baby still fussing too much to care. "Yeah, you got a lot to say, little guy! Tell me all about it."

"He's been telling us about it for the past three hours," Jason muttered, and Tim froze, apparently not having noticed the other boy's presence yet. Bruce did find it odd that Tim missed it, but the baby had grabbed a fair amount of attention.

Tim turned around and spoke very cautiously, "Jason."

"Replacement."

"This is a friendly visit?" Tim's eye scanned the room, more properly this time, and Bruce could almost see him analyzing the visual evidence. And debating how to make an emergency exit if Jason made any sudden moves.

"I didn't come here to murder anyone," Jason held up his empty hands to show his innocence. "Not that it's completely off the table." Tim weakly nodded, but after a few more seconds of wide-eyed deliberation, decided he didn't need to be on high alert.

He walked around Jason and seized in Dick in a hug, which was returned somewhat awkwardly. "Dick! Congratulations!"

"Um, thanks."

Tim was brimming with excitement when he let go, and punched Dick playfully in the shoulder before running back to all the bags he'd brought in. "I can't believe you didn't tell us! No wonder you've been so distant lately! It's fine,though, I brought tons of presents to make up for all the months I couldn't help you get ready!" He began pulling baby clothes out of the first bag. "I bought a bunch of boring stuff like diapers and wipes, but this bag's all fun. Look! They make little Batman onesies!"

"Oh, that's _precious_ ," Jason said with an evil grin when Tim held it up, and Bruce suspected he was being mocked. But the humiliation was spread around when Tim displayed a sleeper modeled after Dick's original Nightwing costume, and Jason's laughter actually took him to the floor. "I don't know if this is awesome or ridiculous!" For Bruce's part, he actually thought the Discowing one was rather adorable, but this wasn't the time, and he told Tim so.

The boy ignored him. "I bought regular clothes, too. There's these pants with little caterpillars, some striped shirts, ooh! The booties with the matching ducky socks!" He grew more and more excited with each item, and when all the clothes were arranged on the bed, he stood back with an expectant grin. "Well? What do you think? Did I do good?"

Dick managed a weak smile, despite the intense argument just moments ago. "Thanks, Tim. RJ's going to be the best dressed baby in town."

"RJ? Richard John, right? That's sweet," Tim beamed when he got a confirming nod. "Well, don't just stand there! Let's celebrate!" He practically bounced back to the TV stand. "I brought an ice cream cake! And milk, to fit with the whole baby theme and all. It's chocolate, though." He took the lid off the cake box and dug some cups and paper plates from one of the other bags, despite the lack of participation from the group. "Dick, you get the first piece!" The cake was revealed, with 'Congratulations To The New Daddy!' written in blue icing, and Dick's face twisted into a painful smile. And Bruce's guts twisted along with it, because a baby should have been a joyous occasion but it was all happening so _wrong_.

Finally, Tim noticed that he was the only one without a cloud of doom hanging over his head. "What's going on? We are happy about this, aren't we?" He was met with silence, and asked his next question to Dick in specific. "Why aren't we happy about this?"

Dick's grimace was apologetic, but a grimace all the same. He met Bruce's eyes for a quick second, before sighing. "Sorry, Tim, but I've barely gotten any sleep all week. I don't really feel like celebrating."

Tim saw right through that lie, and surveyed the room in disbelief. "Okay, am I the only one who thinks this is a good thing?"

"I do," Cassandra offered, and Alfred also gave his assent. Jason just shrugged and mumbled something about it being none of his business. In a bit of shock, Tim set down the plastic knife he was using to cut the cake and rounded on Dick.

"You're a dad now. You have a baby, a family of your own, isn't that great?" Dick looked away, but Tim just followed him and forced Dick to meet his eyes. "You have something good, a real future. Someone who needs you, and he'll actually take all the love you have for him." At that, Dick had a visible reaction, and Bruce felt like he was only getting half of a conversation. "You have a son. Isn't this everything you ever wanted?"

Bruce couldn't stay silent any longer. "I don't think _this_ is what he wanted," he said, gesturing to the dilapidated room. "And this isn't the time for a party. We have enough problems without trying to manage a baby on top of them."

"A baby isn't a problem, Bruce."

"No, but Dick was completely unprepared for this, and he needs to start thinking like an adult! We can't always be there to shoulder the burden!"

"I'm right here, you know." What if the gang situation, already unstable and not entirely helped by Jason's recent schemes, spiraled out of control again? What if the rival groups went to war over Gotham, what if the problems slipped over into Bludhaven, because they always did and goodness knows that place was volatile already. What if something happened to Dick and the child as civilians, unable to defend themselves, and Batman was too busy elsewhere to guard them? What if something happened to _Batman,_ leaving Dick fatherless again, but now with this new burden on his shoulders? What if the hole created by Nightwing's absence created a power vacuum?

What if his little Dickiebird got caught up in responsibilities to his new family and stopped being _his?_ What if blood really was thicker than anything else?

Too many what ifs. Too many threats to his children that he couldn't account for, too many threats to the status quo that he hadn't defended his feelings against. "You're too young! And having a child out of wedlock comes with a whole other set of difficulties, the least of which being your reputation!"

"Wow, are you going to make him wear a scarlet letter, too?" Tim rolled his eyes and looked generally disgusted. "One of us went and got a life that's borderline normal, you'd think you'd be congratulating yourself." For this? No, if anything, all of Dick's current hardships were Bruce's fault, he should have prepared his son better, should have protected him or reigned him in more. This was not something Bruce should celebrate, he'd _failed_ Dick.

And Dick hadn't even wanted Bruce to be part of it, to share in the joy or pain. Even after telling Alfred, he still wanted to shut Bruce out.

Bruce was expected to be happy about this?

But he was prevented from saying anything when Alfred let out a loud gasp. "My word!" All eyes turned to him in confusion, and then horror, when they saw RJ. Dribbling down his chin, and also on the cloth draped over Alfred's shoulder, was a small bit of spit-up.

Mixed with blood.

"Oh, God!" Dick vaulted across the room and had RJ in his arms before anyone else could blink. "No, no! Blood? How...?" He gulped down some air, then turned to Cassandra. "Phone, ambulance. _Now!_ "

She obeyed and grabbed the nearest cell phone, and Tim instantly appeared at her side because if the job was communicating their situation and address to the 911 operator, she probably didn't quite have the language skills yet to communicate that with efficiency, far as she'd come over the years. Either way, Bruce forcibly interrupted. "It'll be quicker if I drive."

"Right," Dick agreed, then shook his head. "Wait, no, I don't have a car seat for him-"

"There's one in the car," Bruce insisted, and Alfred nodded.

"We took the liberty of purchasing one, rightfully assuming you hadn't done so yet." And Bruce had intended to drag Dick home to the manor today. "It's already secured."

Dick stared at them both, and his eyes and voice were heavy with emotion. _"Thank you."_ Then he snapped back into action. "Let's go!" He was out the door, and Bruce ran after.

"Give me the keys," he said, though Alfred was already tossing them over. "It'll be faster."

"And probably illegal," Tim muttered as he helped Dick buckle in RJ, who had spit up blood again. Dick wiped it up with his sleeve with barely a thought, and Tim went pale. "Never mind. Just go." Bruce turned on the ignition and pulled out before the doors were all shut on the vehicle. Alfred and Tim were inside, along with Dick and RJ, but if Jason and Cassandra hadn't made it inside the car, Bruce wasn't waiting for them. They were resourceful, they could find their own way. He turned onto the road and sped off.

"I know, baby, I know, you tried to tell me and I didn't listen," Dick was saying, crying right along with the child. "We'll get you to the hospital and they're gonna fix you, okay? Everything gonna be fine, kiddo, I promise..." Then he stopped. "They won't turn us away, will they? I don't have insurance, I don't think I have any ID for him, should I have brought his birth certificate? Do I need-"

"We'll handle it, Dick," Bruce grunted as he weaved around cars on the freeway.

"All of his medical stuff was done back at the free clinic, is that important? He was born in Bludhaven, do we need to call the hospital there? What about money, they won't turn me away if I can't pay it all at once, right? I've never done this by myself before, I don't know what to do-"

"Dick!" Bruce made sure he had the man's attention, then risked looking through the rear-view mirror for a second. "I'll handle it. You just handle him." He met Dick's tear-filled and frantic eyes for a beat, then turned back to the road, and he heard Dick's choked breathing behind him.

"Okay," he was whispering. "Okay. Bruce has got this, you hear that, RJ? Your Grandpa Bruce is handling it, and you're gonna be fine, because he never lets us down." Bruce gripped the steering wheel and tried not to think of Jason. Instead, he pressed down even more on the gas and prayed he wouldn't make Dick a liar. But one other word poked through Dick's constant dialogue to his crying child, and it struck Bruce to the core. How he hadn't made the connection, realized what this all meant until now, was incredible.

Dick was a father. And Bruce had a grandchild.


	6. Chapter 6

The waiting room was horrible. Not because anything bad happened, beyond the obvious drama they all brought with them, but Tim felt he was descending into the bowels of Hell all the same. Too much pressure, too much uncertainty, despite the fact that the doctors had moved rather quickly to whisk Dick and RJ off. Still, every second spent in there was torture, and Tim hated himself every time he wished they could move ahead of some other patient, because then they and their families would be stuck in the same pain and helplessness.

Bruce was born to handle chaos, however. He was lousy at comfort, but as the CEO of a world-wide company, Bruce could navigate paperwork and large words, tense situations and the rush of people and information. As a detective, Tim assumed he was prepared to do the same, but maybe the situation was hitting a little close to home. It wasn't the first time he was in a hospital awaiting the fate of a loved one.

Eventually, they moved from emergency to another section of the hospital, one with brighter colors and stickers all over the walls. Probably for kids, to make them feel happy and comfortable. Well, Tim was technically still a child, and it was working. Despite his knowledge of reality, nothing really bad could happen in a place with smiling stars plastered on the ceiling.

In time, Dick returned, but without RJ. "They still don't know exactly what's wrong," he mournfully reported, but the doctors were doing their best to stop the bleeding and figure the problem out, and in the meantime, they would just have to wait a spell. For a family of action-oriented crime fighters, waiting was always the worst part. Waiting was a chance to observe and to deliberate, and for Tim right then, there was nothing positive to see or think about.

For example, he couldn't help but notice Dick was acting very similarly to the way he had during the gang wars, which was to say, like a mental patient. Tim had thought things were improving, in that when Dick returned to Bludhaven as "Crutches" he spoke somewhat rationally, but he knew something was eating at the other man. But no matter what he said, he couldn't get Dick to confide in him, and unfortunately, Tim had his own life to worry about. He could have pushed harder, could have made more time or more effort, but he didn't, and soon Dick slipped into the background.

Tim used to be a better friend than that. But shaming himself wouldn't fix things, so he got up and moved to a chair beside Dick. "How are you holding up?"

Abysmally. Not that Dick would admit it, and he stared down at his hands in silence. For a while, Tim wasn't sure he knew he was there. "Dick? What are you thinking about?"

"There's blood on my hands." A few drops and stains on his sleeve, and some smeared on his fingers and palms. Some of RJ's blood also made it onto his shirt, just a few little droplets of red mixed into the spit-up stains.

Tim reached over and put a hand on Dick's arm. "Well, there's a restroom over there. We can clean it up." But Dick didn't reply, didn't move. Tim wasn't even sure if he was breathing. "Dick?"

Dick's voice was hollow, utterly bereft of life. "They won't ever be clean." Okay, so that answered the question of Dick's mental health. Tim continued to pat Dick's arm and signaled to Bruce with his eyes, but the other man either didn't see him or didn't understand the message.

Sometimes Tim wondered how he dealt with this family for so long. They made Janet and Jack Drake look really good some days. Sometimes, even David Cain didn't look so awful by comparison.

"This isn't your fault."

"Yes it is." Tim tried to argue the point a little further, but Dick finally raised his head with a sad smile. "I'm the dad now. Everything is my responsibility." Well, at least he was interacting with the world and making eye contact. Tim shot some more pointed looks at Bruce, who seemed to have overheard Dick's last statement and was applying it to himself in his usual way. Which meant he was going on a guilt trip instead of actually doing something productive.

"Dick, go wash your hands." This was exhausting. They were all supposed to be happy. This baby was the one good thing to happen in years, the one positive, shining thing in Tim's life, but now it was sucked back into the sinkhole of their reality.

After a while, Alfred left the hospital to go procure food and various other business. Taking care of others was how he coped, bringing order to an otherwise chaotic world, and Tim wouldn't deny him that, much as he would have liked Alfred to stay with him. But the elderly man probably thought Bruce would be taking that role. As it was, Bruce was only there in body; his spirit was barricading every last wall the man had.

Jason and Cassandra both showed up a bit later. Tim wasn't sure if they arrived together or just at the same time, but Jason held the door open for Cass, and Tim was a little amazed that out of all of them, Jason was the thoughtful, compassionate one. He'd also shed his domino mask in order to blend in, even if Tim suspected he had a gun hidden somewhere on his person. Cassandra and Jason demanded news the second they arrived, but there wasn't much to give. And so, they all sat around in silence, a group of people here for the same reason, but not connected. Not that he necessarily wanted to be connected to Jason, in the fear that his limbs might become _dis_ connected. But weren't trials supposed to bring people closer together? Didn't a shared cause make their group of individuals into a team?

Tim didn't want to be alone anymore, especially not when surrounded by people he cared about. It felt too much like his childhood.

So it was a great relief when a pair of feet wheeled into his downcast vision. "Tim? I got here as soon as I could. Do we know anything yet?"

"Barbara?" He looked up into the familiar bespectacled face and felt the hope return to his world. There was no tragedy Barbara couldn't weather, no crisis she couldn't take charge of. "How did you find out?"

"A little bat told me," she said dryly. "So where is Hunk Wonder?"

"Over there," Tim gestured to the other side of the room, where Dick sat isolated from everyone. "Maybe you can get through to him. Don't feel bad, he didn't tell any of us, either."

"Hmm, given the sap he is, you'd think he'd be shouting this from the rooftops." But she trailed off, eyes falling onto one of the room's other occupants. "Jason, is that you?"

Over by a poster detailing the dangers of germs, Jason stiffened. He turned around slowly, with his eyes wide and full of emotion. Tim hadn't noticed before, between helmets and domino masks and getting the snot beaten out of him, but Jason had a childlike innocence to his eyes that was at odds with the tough image he tried to cultivate. He swallowed and spoke, "Hey, Babs."

Barbara wheeled over to Jason and clasped his hand, and though Jason looked away and seemed uncomfortable, he didn't pull out of the touch. "You look good, Barbie. Different."

"Yeah, I wasn't looking my best last time we saw each other." She smiled a little, and gave Jason's hand a squeeze. "It's all right, Jay. I'm fine. Better than ever."

"Really?" This childlike, vulnerable and compassionate Jason was so different than the one who'd beat Tim within an inch of his life. He'd observed Robin from a distance and known so much about Jason Todd, but he'd never truly _known_ him. Maybe if they'd gotten to meet under better circumstances, they might have actually gotten along.

"Really. Batman's whole operation would crash and burn with out me." She winked up at him. "And I see you're still taking the road less traveled by."

"And it's made all the difference." For a second, Jason's smile matched Barbara's, but it fell off quickly. "What he did to you... I wanted him to get what he deserved... I really tried to..."

"I know, Jason. And thank you. But it happened a long time ago. You don't have to avenge me."

"It's not fair..."

"None of this is fair," she said. "Life's not fair. But we make do." She squeezed his hand again, then let go and got back to the sad business at hand. "Is there an update on the little guy?"

"Not yet. We're all just waiting." Barbara's shoulders dropped a little at the news, and she looked over to Dick.

"I can't believe he didn't tell me..." She lifted her arms a little, as if she was about to roll over and talk to him, but dropped her hands back to the armrests after a few seconds. "Is there a Mrs. Grayson?"

Tim looked to her in surprise. Honestly, his first thought was that Barbara must be the mother, and it was hard to finally admit that she hadn't looked pregnant in the slightest any time over the past nine months. "I don't know. Did he ever tell you about a girlfriend?"

"Since breaking up? I'm lucky if he even responded to Oracle. It's like I'm not even part of his life."

"Join the club," Tim muttered, but Jason took pity on them.

"He said her name was Catalina, before you showed up."

Both Barbara and Tim dropped their jaws. "What?"

"I know, Bruce had that reaction, too. But with more Bruciness."

Tim sat in the nearest chair and tried to find some logic in that. "Didn't he put her in jail?" But no answers were forthcoming. He was never clear just what the relationship was there. Officially, Dick was just trying to keep her from getting herself killed or killing anybody else, which had apparently failed, but it had looked for a brief period like they might have been dating or something. Except for the part where Dick never looked like he actually liked her, but you didn't let someone drape their arms all over you if you weren't together, right?

Who knew? Adults were weird. Then again, his longest relationship involved taking his girlfriend to Lamaze class while she was pregnant via her previous boyfriend, so... who was he to judge?

Despite the fact that Barbara carried more tension than a coiled spring over the recent news, she buried it and wheeled herself over to Dick, though he didn't seem to notice, even when she put a hand on his shoulder. And the departure of Barbara left Tim alone with Jason, which was uncomfortable to say the least. Tim couldn't leave because then it would be obvious that he was leaving because of Jason, and that would be rude and get him back on the hit list, something it seemed he'd just gotten off of. But he wasn't sure he could keep sitting there one-on-one, especially when Jason sat down in the chair next to him. Tim thought he would jump out of his own skin, and once again, he scanned the room for Bruce and tried to send psychic signals.

This time, Bruce did respond and come over, but not before Jason turned to Tim. "You think the kid will be all right?"

It was still a little jarring that Jason actually cared. "He will be. He has to be."

"You're not worried at all?" Ha, worried. Tim was so far beyond worried.

He was desperate. This was the last good thing he had to hold on to. His family was gone, his surrogate family was stretched to all corners and barely communicating, and this baby had brought them all back together for one beautiful second. And as Robin, he'd been determined to preserve and protect that.

He didn't want to become obsessive and closed off like the Batman, but... maybe it was inevitable. Maybe he was losing too much. Maybe allowing himself to love things he could lose was just setting himself up for failure. Maybe Bruce had the right idea, to close off his heart, focus only on the crimes. Sacrifice his sense of self, his humanity, in order to make sure the people he loved didn't suffer needlessly.

But even Robin couldn't detect and arrest an illness. Nothing was safe anymore. "He's going to be fine."

Bruce joined the both of them and agreed. "He has the best doctors in the city."

"And yet, you look like an eight-year old having to send your puppy off to the big doghouse in the sky," Jason frowned. "What do you know that we don't?"

"Nothing," Bruce sighed. "I just wished I could do more. I don't like uncertainty." Or death. For all he'd acted back in the motel, Dick and now RJ were family. If Bruce lost another family member...

Jason seemed to have the same idea. "You can't save everyone, Bruce. Case in point, me."

It might not have been the best time to bring that up. "I tried to, Jason."

"Yeah, I know. As I keep saying, that's not the part I'm mad at you for." What was being dead like? It might be insensitive, but Tim wanted to ask. He wasn't a strong practitioner of any particular religion, and while he did have a vague belief that there might be a God above everything, lately he had doubts over how closely such a being really watched over their lives.

But if something nice and peaceful awaited his dad and Stephanie, if his dad got to be with his mom again, those would be good things to know. But he couldn't bring himself to ask, so he kept silent, and Jason just sighed. "Remember that time I was in the hospital? I was all but in a body cast. That hurt way more than dying ever did. Because it wasn't a villain who took me down, but the people we were supposed to be protecting, thanks to Gordon Godfrey." Tim vaguely remembered that. Not the hospitalization, he wasn't in the "club" then, but the scandal. Gordon Godfrey was a news personality who loved to stir up hate for superheroes and vigilantes, and often turned public opinion against them. He prided himself on being a skeptical thinker and uncovering controversy, but really, Tim suspected he just enjoyed war-mongering. "People don't appreciate what we do for them, and we suffer for it. And gangs go nuts over the city, when Gotham has some of the best medical and scientific facilities in the country. We could cure so many diseases or make scientific advances if we forced people like Poison Ivy and Victor Fries to work for us, or made a world where they wouldn't dare become villains in the first place."

"Jason-"

"I know, we have to let people make their own choices, I've heard the speech before." Jason rolled his eyes. "But you know I'm right. The Teen Titans travel to distant planets, the Justice League has more missiles than our military, we have all these amazing things, but we keep it to ourselves because we're scared of it falling into the wrong hands. So let's be the right hands. The world moves forward, and no one has to get shot in an alley or sit in a hospital room not knowing. Less class issues, better treatment, criminals and corrupt service workers get put down for good, and the rest of us can live happy lives. We can change the world, B. You and me."

Jason made a lot of sense. In the back of Tim's mind was a voice screaming "Ethics Nightmare!" but the sincerity in Jason almost broke through that. But it sounded a lot like something Ra's Al Ghul would say, or how Lex Luthor would justify some selfish scheme. It sounded good on the surface, but Tim couldn't quite sign on without thinking through all the details, and when he did, the altruistic vision started to fall apart.

On the other hand, it gave him hope to know Jason wasn't this homicidal, rage-driven monster. Bruce, however, just pursed his lips. "Well, that doesn't help us now." He sighed and looked over to Dick and Barbara, who were now coming over their way, joined by Cassandra. The whole gang together, minus Alfred. "And maybe we shouldn't discuss that in public. Vigilantism is still illegal, remember."

"It was always illegal," Barbara snorted. "The new commissioner is just enforcing it."

"Stupid," Jason muttered, but Dick shrugged his weary shoulders.

"I don't know, maybe some of us deserve it?" Jason took offense immediately, and Dick held up his hands. "Calm down, I wasn't talking about you."

"Then who?"

"Just being hypothetical," was Dick's soft reply. He then fell into silence, until Bruce tried to put an arm around his shoulders and he pushed away. "No, don't touch me, don't... I'm fine." Sure. And more of a shame, since Bruce was finally attempting to do something nice and parental.

Having been rejected, Bruce looked so hurt. Tim remembered another time, another hospital waiting room when Bruce looked like that. That time, it was Tim rejecting him. When his dad was paralyzed, his mother newly deceased. A time where he suffered, where Bruce was right next to him to offer comfort, and Tim flat out said he didn't want him. Because when Bruce hugged him, offered all his strength, Tim felt the darkness flowing with it. Bruce couldn't offer healing, because his strength came from the cowl, from a demon of death. He felt the cape like a jagged, evil stain, swirling around him and pulling him into some sort of hell dimension, and Bruce could live in that world, but Tim couldn't. He didn't want to.

So when Bruce asked if Tim wanted him there, he said no. Tim rejected Bruce, rejected the Batman, when he went in to see his father. Better to be alone, than turn to that source for comfort.

That was a long time ago, back when he thought he could maybe come through the darkness to find the light on the other side. And he had, but like the earth revolved around the sun, the dark came in cycles, and every time, Tim chose to become more like his mentor.

He didn't want that. He wanted to be happy. Robin was supposed to be color and life, Robin was joy, Robin was hope. Robin saved people from the night and helped them hold on until dawn, and saved the Batman most of all.

But what could Robin do about this? And how could Tim be Robin when he was drowning in the black of midnight? This was the witching hour of his life, and he'd suddenly found he'd discarded all of his lanterns over time.

"He's going to be fine, Dick," Tim offered, because it was all he had to give. Bruce, however, took that positive sentiment right back down.

"This is all my fault."

"It's not _your_ fault, Bruce," Dick groaned, for all Bruce seemed to listen. Jason immediately piped up with a lecture that Bruce always got so guilty over things while missing the real issue, and Tim tuned them out. Maybe Bruce would finally listen to his long-lost son. In the meantime, Cassandra sat down by Tim and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, finally feeling a tether back to earth.

And since Bruce and Jason were splintering off into their own little conversation, Barbara took advantage of the lull and turned to Dick. "So, Catalina." Dick gave an audible moan and rubbed his temples, but Barbara didn't let up. Tim supposed she should have been commended for waiting all of ten minutes to get this off her chest. "Interesting choice of girlfriends. Now, was this before or after she tried to kill me?"

"Come on, Babs..."

"No, I think it's an important question. After all, you've always had trouble keeping your relationships straight. There was that time you slept with me while you were engaged to another girl."

"We settled that years ago! Kori was okay with it!" Yeah, adults were weird. Tim and Cassandra shared uncomfortable looks.

"Well I _wasn't_! You're such an idiot, Dick! You do whatever you want, _who_ ever you want, and you don't care who it hurts!"

"Should we go?" Cassandra whispered, and Tim had to agree, it looked like those two needed to be alone. On the other hand, he didn't want to be out of the waiting room when the doctors came back with results.

But at that moment, Alfred returned, bearing bags of take-out from the nearby restaurant. "I'm afraid it's not up to my usual standard, but I imagine it's more comforting than the vending machine fare," he said as Tim and Cassandra rushed him. "Ah, Miss Gordon! Thank you so much for coming!" She acknowledged Alfred with a wave, barely breaking out of the argument. "Your presence is greatly appreciated."

Though perhaps not by Dick, right now. "No, Babs! You dumped me! That means we're over, and you don't get to come here and guilt me no matter _who_ I decided to date!"

"Except when it involves criminals! Now it affects the night job, and that involves me!"

"Yeah, we'll just start eating without them," Tim muttered. He began rummaging through the bags for some forks. "Thanks for doing this, Alfred. It's really sweet."

"Of course, Master Tim. It is, unfortunately, the least I can do." He put his arms around Tim and Cassandra. "But fear not, we will weather this storm together." He smiled, and it warmed Tim's heart, Cassandra smiled, too.

For all of five seconds. "Please! Just because you dress up like a bat makes you more qualified than the police? You don't kill, big whoop! You don't even realize how hypocritical you are!" Well, so much for Jason and Bruce taking this moment to repair their relationship.

Meanwhile, with Dick and Barbara... "I didn't say that, Boy Sensitive! I'm just asking what you possibly could have been thinking?"

"Hey, you think I wanted this!?" Dick shouted back, at a loud enough volume that every person in the waiting room turned to look. "I asked her to stop! She's the one who didn't listen!"

Cassandra dropped the food she'd just picked up, and Alfred demonstrated his own shock by not rushing to clean it. Dick didn't seem to realize the impact of what he'd said, and kept going. "Didn't matter what I said or what I did, she didn't care! But now _I'm_ the one who has to deal with all the mess!" Even Bruce and Jason stopped arguing long enough to stare. "I didn't want any of this, I've been trying to forget the whole thing ever happened!" Dick continued to yell, completely lost in his rant. "I hate this more than you do! I wish none of it ever happened, I wish he was never _born_!"

Silence fell over the waiting room, and Dick paled.

"I didn't mean that," he back-pedaled. "No, I didn't mean that. I love RJ, I just... I haven't slept, I'm stressed out, you can't take anything I say seriously. Being a dad is everything I've ever wanted, this is great." Then why did he look so terrified?

"Dick..."

"You know me, I just don't think," he babbled on. "I just jump into things, love especially. Yeah, it wasn't my _best_ relationship, I was probably rebounding, I mean, can't really date a criminal, right?" He laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Had to break up, but that doesn't mean... It's not like I didn't want it, and I love RJ, I just wasn't ready for him. That's all, I wasn't expecting it, but it's all good. I've never been happier, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Yeah, sure, Dick. Whatever you say," Tim tried to reassure, before they were giving the guy a room next to poor Dana.

Dick nodded, blinking back tears. "Except the part where my baby's puking up blood, that part really sucks."

Bruce stood up, and it was like some sort of aura bomb went off in the room. His blue eyes were wide enough to catch and transmit satellite signals, and beside him, Jason exploded. "You see? This is why your way doesn't work! Why some dirt-bags have to die, so stuff like this doesn't happen!" He pointed at Dick, who currently had his head buried in his hands and may not have noticed, "Put the scum down and everyone knows what happens if they hurt each other!"

"We can't do that, Jason."

"Are you kidding me? You put us out there and you don't care what they do to us?"

That argument started up again, so Tim turned his back on them and focused on Dick. "RJ's going to be fine, Dick."

But Dick just cried. Dick Grayson. Nightwing. Crying in public. "This is all my fault."

And behind Tim, Bruce echoed the same words. "No, this is my fault." Quite the pair, those two. "It was all a mistake."

"A mistake?" Of course, that would be the one phrase out of anybody's that Dick would latch on to. Tim rushed over and grabbed his arm.

"No, ignore him. Bruce never says what he really means anyway. Just focus on RJ," okay, maybe that wasn't the happiest subject, either. "He's with the doctors, they'll find out what's wrong, and he'll make a full recovery. I promise!"

"You can't promise that," Barbara insisted, ever the realist. But Tim rounded on her with such a vicious glare.

"He will be okay!" he screamed. "RJ is going to be fine! He has to be! Nobody's dying today, I'm not losing anybody else!" That little outburst shocked everyone into silence, save Bruce, who left a fuming Jason to go pour out his sorrows to Alfred.

"I messed up the day I decided to take him in." Oh, that was going to do wonders for Dick's current state of mind. "I coddled him, I didn't prepare him for the world out there! I didn't prepare him for anything?"

"You coddled him?" Alfred scoffed. "By sending him out to fight the most evil people society can dredge up, sometimes by himself?" Wow, did anyone care that they were discussing this in public? "You _bombarded_ him with the real world, it's a wonder that boy has any sense of optimism left!"

"I shouldn't have done that, it's all my fault-"

"This isn't about you, Bruce," Dick broke in, still crying, still distraught and inches away from just jumping out the window.

Tim backed him up by screaming over the din, "Everyone quit blaming themselves! And each other! No one could have prepared for this shitstorm! All of us are falling apart!" Now he had people's attention, and was suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, um... this is nobody's fault, so... sorry about the swearing Alfie."

"Understandable under the circumstances, Master Tim." Tim ducked his head and hid is flushed face over by Cassandra, who patted him on the back.

"We shouldn't fight," she said, in a soft voice. "Last time, we broke the..." She trailed off, and her scrunched up frown revealed she'd lost track of the word she needed. Eventually she pointed at Jason and it clicked in Tim's head.

"The memorial..." That shamed everyone, except Jason, who didn't appear to have a clue what they were talking about. But that day, back when Bruce Wayne was accused of murder, that fight had been the most painful thing to witness, or be a part of. Dick and Bruce throwing punches, hearing they were all dispensable to Bruce outside of the job, the shattered glass on the Robin memorial... some of that still crept it's way into Tim's nightmares.

But the peace only lasted as long for Bruce to cross the room to Dick. "This was all my fault. Everything that's happened... it's all happened because of me..." And after a second of dumbfounded staring, Dick lost it.

"No, Bruce! _No!_ I can't fix you this time!" If there had been an object near him, he probably would have thrown it. "You keep falling apart and expecting me to pull it all back together but I _can't_! I've tried so hard to be everything you wanted, everything you needed, live up to all your expectations but I'm not anything you think I am!"

"Dick, I just-" If there was an apology there, or anything remotely helpful, Dick was too far gone to hear it.

"You're right, I'm not responsible, I'm not ready to have a child, but it's so much worse! I'm not a hero, and I'm not... good, I'm not normal, and I tried to be, you think I've adjusted so well, but there's this horrible, sucking wound and it's always been there..." He choked down some breaths, then looked up with tear-filled eyes. "I need you, Bruce. Like I've never needed anything, and I need you to be my father now." He dropped his head before Bruce could say anything. "But I know you can't, not now. Not after... I can't be your son after this, there's nothing you can do, I'm..."

"Mr. Grayson?" Everyone turned to the stranger's voice, and found the doctor standing there. "Would you come with me, please?"

Everyone rushed over, Dick leading the charge. "How's RJ? Is he okay?"

"That's what we need to talk about. I think we should discuss this in private," the doctor said to Dick, and he nodded back and began to follow him out of the room.

"Wait, I'll come with you," Bruce said, but Dick held out a hand.

"No, just... stay with them," he muttered, and he left a crestfallen Bruce behind in the waiting room.

After a few seconds of watching them go, Bruce lost it. "He sent me away! Just dismissed me! Why doesn't he want me with him, he shouldn't be alone! Why doesn't he want me?"

"Oh, grow up, Bruce!" Jason snapped. "I'm starting to see why Dick-head left home!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, what do you think?" Tim joined him, odd as it was to agree with Jason. "You always do this. You barge in, say you know what's best for us, but in the end it's always about you! You pretend you're looking out for us, but it's all about _your_ loss and _your_ pain! Everything is always about the Batman and little Bruce Wayne's tragedy!"

"It is not!"

"Oh yeah? Why did you make Stephanie Robin, again?" That was one mean look Bruce was giving him. "I mean, you could have just let me quit, you only spent _months_ trying to drive me to it in the beginning. And hey, a life with my dad, not such a bad thing. But you kept trying to bring me back." Bruce denied it, and tried to walk away, but Tim followed. "Why couldn't you let me have my dad? Why? Because you'd already driven Dick off again and you couldn't stand to be alone?"

Meanwhile, Jason had hit on the other important part of that accusation. "Wait, Robin? Who's Stephanie?"

"Robin number four," Barbara muttered, sounding like she already regretted speaking up. Not like it mattered, the bat was out of the bag anyway.

Jason stiffened. "The hell, Bruce?"

But Tim couldn't have cared less about Jason right then. "I finally have something good in my life, after all the loss and death! This baby is a good thing, however it got here! The least you could do is not screw it up for me!"

"When did we turn into a baseball team?" Jason demanded, and Barbara smirked.

"You haven't even met Huntress yet."

Bruce just threw his hands into the air. "How is this my fault?"

"You just said it was," Cassandra softly pointed out, and Alfred agreed with her.

"Ah, but it's different if other people point out his flaws," Barbara sniped. "He can only take blame if _he's_ the only one throwing stones. Mere mortals don't get to question the Batman."

"This is a public building, Barbara!"

"Yeah, well all the civilians fled in fear about ten minutes ago!" That was true. Even the hospital workers seemed to be avoiding this area.

Bruce let that go, but still growled at Tim. "You can't blame me for the baby getting sick!"

"And you wonder why we all leave! I'm not saying it's your fault, I'm saying you're being a jackass! Why can't you just admit you're wrong and be there for us?"

"Please, Bruce? Wrong?" Jason barked out a laugh. "Hell would freeze over first."

"How can I be there for Dick when he pushes me away?" Bruce snarled. "Or any of you? He doesn't know what he needs, and I can't just sit back and let him self-destruct!"

"See what I mean?"

Bruce rounded on Jason. "I've been wrong before. I've made plenty of mistakes-"

"Like me?"

"Jason-"

"Anyway, when do I get to meet the Replacement's replacement? She going to come swinging in through one of these windows and join the party?" Finally, a statement that brought things down again, and Jason was confused by the silence. "What?"

It was Cassandra who finally found the courage to answer him. "She's dead."

"What?" Tim felt the shift in the room, almost wished he'd brought a jacket.

"Tortured by Black Mask," Barbara supplied with downcast eyes. " Surprised you didn't hear about it, the news has been loving that story." Jason trembled for a moment, those expressive blue eyes wide as if he had been struck.

And then he had his gun out and was moving faster than anyone could blink. He forced Bruce back against the wall, finger on the trigger, gun raised right up to the man's head. For a second, he just stood there and seethed, tension rolling off like waves, and the world around them all felt frozen.

His voice came out in a low hiss, "I don't even know you anymore!" But after several more seconds of charged silence, and the scream of an orderly as he passed by, Jason turned on his heel and left.

Bruce tried to call him back. "Jason-" Jason whipped around and fired. The shot hit Bruce in the foot, which seemed rather compassionate, given the amount of anger and betrayal the former Robin's face held.

"Enjoy your gravestones, old man," he snarled. "One day, it'll be all you have left!"

And with that, he left. And a small, traitorous part of Tim wished he had gone with him.


	7. Chapter 7

Cassandra sat by a large window that overlooked the hospital lawn. Beyond that, the lights of the city were starting to flicker to life, influenced by the rapidly setting sun. It amazed Cassandra that they'd been there so long. She turned over a pamphlet in her hands without understanding a word, just to give herself something to do. At first, it seemed like an opportunity for reading practice, but since Stephanie's death, reading had become much more difficult and lost all the joy attached.

She wasn't the only person aimlessly waiting. Far below the window, lurking around some shrubbery and trying to look casual, was Jason Todd. He'd changed his clothes and now hid his face behind some sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt, but Cassandra recognized his walk and posture. After firing a gun in a hospital waiting room, he was right to hide his features, not that the rest of the family gave very descriptive accounts to security. Being such great detectives and gatherers of evidence also taught them how to obfuscate an eyewitness account, and without planning it beforehand, all of them had given Jason a free pass.

Cassandra wasn't saying Bruce deserved to get shot in the foot, just that not a single one of them seemed to blame Jason for it. As it was, Bruce was going to be fine, and was currently being treated for the injury in another part of the hospital. If Cassandra knew him, he'd be back soon, long before the doctors wanted to let him out of their sight. Alfred had gone along to make sure the man actually received treatment instead of just hiding the injury and toughing it out. With Dick still in meetings with RJ's doctor, there was no need for that kind of bravado.

Tim quietly approached Cassandra and sat down. "So, crazy day..." She gave a nod of acknowledgment, though 'crazy' didn't seem enough to cover it. "Think it can get worse than this?"

"It always gets worse," Cassandra muttered. For the past couple years, in fact, life had been on a steady, downward slope. But perhaps Tim was expecting something more optimistic. He squirmed a bit in his seat, then finally calmed down and sat still, but it didn't stop his body language from screaming louder than a fire alarm. That was part of why Cassandra had retreated to the window; it was too loud for her. A whole building full of people unable to stop telegraphing their feelings, and Cassandra needed to detach.

Even so, she couldn't turn Tim away. In time, the boy said, "Why are we so dysfunctional? We're all pretty decent people by ourselves. Even Bruce. How come we get together and it's a train wreck?"

"We care," Cassandra shrugged. "So we don't think logically. Just instincts." Like animals. The fight-or-flight response took over, and they all stopped seeing the larger picture, stopped listening to their rational mind that proposed patience and compassion.

Tim looked uncomfortable. "Bruce says that sometimes. Emotions interfere with your judgment and objectivity, can't let feelings influence you on a case." He pursed his lips, and Cassandra could guess what he was thinking. He didn't want to become closed off like his mentor. "But this isn't a case. We should be able to let our feelings motivate us."

"Then we make mistakes." It was just a fact. Cassandra's training and upbringing had taught her that. Emotions weren't efficient or rational.

But life in Gotham had taught her that mistakes were sometimes the best things to ever happen. "Look," she said, and pointed to the view outside the window. Tim obeyed, and his eyes widened when he saw Jason.

"No way! He's still hanging around?" They both looked down at Jason, and he stared back up at their window, though whether or not he saw them watching was unknown.

"We want to be together," Cassandra said, and smiled when Tim looked just a bit more hopeful. "We're better together."

"Yeah, don't I know it. Ever since we started running solo operations it's just been brutal." He pulled back from the window and sank into his seat. "You know, I was so excited when Alfred told me about RJ. Finally, something good was happening to our group. And that little baby brought us all back under the same roof, we even got Jason to have a civil conversation with Bruce. Sort of." His bottom lip trembled a little. "We were all together again, and then everything just fell apart."

"So let's fix it." Cassandra said the words before thinking about it, and she felt as bewildered as Tim looked.

"How are we going to fix this?"

"We will." Somehow, saying that with conviction gave her the confidence she hadn't started with. Which was good, since Dick returned at that moment with little RJ in his arms.

But his face was as white as chalk. Tim turned to Cassandra. "And that? Can we fix that, too?"

Logic said no. But experience said mistakes could sometimes be wonderful. So all she said was, "We'll find out."

Tim nodded and squeezed her hand before standing up. "All right," he said, looking over to Dick and his son. "Batgirl and Robin, a team up as old as time." Cassandra got to her feet as well, and the two of them shared a look, as binding as a handshake. "Let's fix this."

* * *

If Bruce had his way, he would have just wrapped his foot up in some gauze and powered through the injury. After all, Batman had endured far worse, and he could wait for treatment until the business with his grandson was completed.

His grandson. That was still knocking him off balance.

But everyone else insisted that he accept medical help, and since Dick had so blatantly refused Bruce's presence, he had no choice but to give in. It didn't take long for him to get bandaged and prescribed some painkillers, but it did give him a lot of time to think over the events of the day.

He didn't like what he saw. "My boys don't trust me anymore," he confessed to Alfred when he was finally discharged. "Jason said he didn't even know me. And Dick doesn't come to me with his problems. Both of them…" Bruce hung his head, reeling with the realization. "I've lost my sons."

"I don't know that you've lost them just yet," Alfred said, helping his employer into a chair in the nearest waiting room. Bruce had been adamant he didn't want a wheelchair or crutches, just a plastic boot was enough, but even with painkillers, he was starting to regret that choice a bit. It was a long walk back to the pediatric unit. "But I agree, your usual 'apologies' won't do the trick here." Well, that was a barbed comment if Bruce ever heard one. But maybe if he actually knew how to give an honest apology, he wouldn't have deserved it.

"Dick said... that she didn't listen. That he told her to stop." At that, Alfred lost all of his sass. "You think he meant...?"

"I suppose we'll have to ask him ourselves..." Alfred sat in the chair next to Bruce, strength gone. He suddenly looked far too old. "I can't even imagine what he must be feeling."

"Why didn't he tell us?" This was the question that plagued Bruce above all else. Why hadn't Dick told him about the problems in his life, the baby, Catalina, breaking up with Barbara, even updates on the Blockbuster and Deathstroke situations? Why had he pulled away, when he needed Bruce and Batman the most? And then, when he could pull himself out of those thoughts, were the other questions. Why didn't Jason want him anymore? Why didn't he feel he knew him now?

Alfred thought to himself for a moment, then postulated, "You dismissed him as Robin when he was beaten by a man three times his size. After that, why would a grown man tell you he was overwhelmed by anything, let alone a child? Or a woman..." Bruce stiffened.

"This is different, I wouldn't have-"

"What you would have done is irrelevant. We are talking about how Master Dick perceives the situation," Alfred curtly interrupted. "And my observations tell me he is a young man who honestly believes his father no longer loves him. Or will cease to, when his secrets are brought to light."

"Well, he's wrong," Bruce snapped, but then sobered up. "He just stood there and let me yell at him." Back in the hotel room, Dick had accepted all accusations and criticisms, which Bruce now suspected were unwarranted. And even if it had been true, it was unlike Dick to not fight back or defend his actions.

"Yes, that is a great concern to me as well." The two sat in silence for a moment, until Bruce couldn't help but break it.

"Is this my fault? We never... we didn't talk much about sexuality or..." There was a brief talk, he remembered, the occasional discussion about girls, but nothing extensive. "That was always his business, and my business was mine." Could he have done more to prepare the boy for the world? Robin knew how biology worked, as well as the evils human beings could inflict upon each other, but this may not have been a costumed instance. And now, there was a child involved. "Did this happen because of me?"

"You are not responsible for the actions of others, Master Bruce. I have been trying to teach you this since you were eight." Yes, the timeless lecture. It was comforting, but in the back of Bruce's mind, he always wondered what he could have done more. "Whatever action or inaction you took, other people make their own choices. Perhaps there were situations you could have handled better in the past, but whatever Master Dick or this Miss Flores did had nothing to do with you." The old butler spoke firmly, enough so that Bruce could almost believe it for a minute. "Now, our chief concern should be how to help our boy through this ordeal."

"I don't think I can," he admitted. "I mean, I want to... but what do I say?" What could he possibly say to make this better? How could he make the world right again? "And he doesn't want me here, he never wanted me to know at all..."

"Master Bruce, this isn't about you."

"Listen to Alfred. He's the only one of us who can keep their head in a crisis," a new voice broke in. Tim arrived, followed by Cassandra. "We've got an update. Good thing you're both already sitting down."

"Oh, dear," Alfred's voice trembled. "Not more bad news?"

Tim winced a little, but forced the expression off his face. "They figured out what's causing the bleeding. It's a tumor, pancreatoblastoma." Bruce felt all the blood drain out of his face, and the room seemed so cold. "It's kind of rare, and hard to detect in kids, which is why no one caught it earlier. I guess most of RJ's symptoms looked like typical newborn stuff." Tim shifted on his feet a bit, then sat down, using the action to collect his emotions and appear calm. But it was hard to hide something from the Batman, and he knew Tim was more distraught than he was letting on. Cassandra was more successful at hiding her feelings, but even she showed signs of distress under the surface.

"I see." Somehow, Alfred was able to speak. Bruce couldn't find the air for it. "And where do we go from here? How serious is it?"

"It's pretty bad," Tim said softly. "It's dangerous to operate in a kid so young, but he'll just keep bleeding out if they don't remove it, and the cancer's already spread." Now Bruce was falling, he was sure of it, but upon further investigation, he saw he was still in his chair. "So they're prepping for surgery now. If that goes well, they'll start discussing a chemotherapy plan."

"Oh, dear God..." Was that Bruce's voice? It seemed so small. "There must be a mistake, this is a baby we're talking about..."

"I know." Tim looked to Cassandra and shared a glance, before clearing his throat. "So... we think you should wait a bit before you go see Dick. Like, maybe stay here for the next half-hour or so. No less than fifteen minutes."

"What?" No, he had to see Dick right away! Bruce had to fix this, he had to make sure the doctors were doing their best, he had to stop the swirling storm that was now taking over his brain. "This is my family, I need to be there! I have a right to know-" But Tim just held up his hands.

"Calm down, Bruce. We're not trying to block you out. We just want you to wait a bit, that's all."

"But why?" He needed to be there now! And if his voice sounded a little petulant, well, Bruce wasn't about to be embarrassed by it.

Cassandra felt differently. "You're a child," she said pointedly, and Tim jumped in before Bruce's temper kicked into high gear.

"It's not an insult, just an observation." As if that made it any better. "When you're Batman, everything's so clinical, but as Bruce Wayne, it's like you're that little kid in an alley again."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Bruce growled. How dare they pretend to know how he felt about anything?

"I know you yell and scream like a little baby, because that's all you know how to do," Tim snapped back. "You're scared and you can't gather evidence or punch out the problem, so you melt down. Just like a little kid, it's your initial response to throw a fit until people put the world back the way it's supposed to be. But you're an adult now, Bruce." The boy exhaled and gave a rueful shrug. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you actually see a grief counselor at this point, but the least you can do is trust me. Remember why I became Robin? You know how you can get when you're grieving."

It felt like Bruce was on trial, but he couldn't really argue with anything Tim said. "So now I'm not allowed to see my grandson?" It was still strange to use that word.

"No, we just want you to take a couple minutes to get the knee-jerk response out of your system, and take some time to focus on Dick. Stop thinking about how scared you are or how you need to barge in there and save the day, and just think about him and what he might be feeling. Do that, fifteen minutes minimum, and I guarantee you'll know what you need to do." Tim leaned forward, face now earnest instead of accusing. "I know you two care about each other. But right now, you're stuck on how this affects _you._ He said he needs his father, and a father puts his kid's well-being ahead of his own. Give yourself a little time, and you can do that. Dick's got the rest of us to hold him steady in the meantime."

"But I should be there now." Tim's lecture had hit home. Bruce saw the logic, and the condemnation.

But Tim and Cassandra were only encouraging. "We're a team, Bruce. A family. We all support each other, so no one feels like they have to carry things alone. I guess... we all forgot that for awhile." He stood up and turned to leave. "Something to remember now. Fifteen minutes, minimum." And then he left, but Cassandra stayed.

There was an awkward silence between the three still in the waiting room, until Bruce broke it with a sigh. "You can go if you want to, Alfred."

"If you need me for nothing else, sir." He faked reluctance, but Bruce could tell he wanted nothing more than to be at Dick and RJ's side.

"Go. I'm sure he'd be relieved to see a friendly face."

"Very good, sir." And he was out of the waiting room almost before those words were finished.

Which just left Bruce and Cassandra. She pointed to his foot and asked, "How are you?"

"I'll be fine." It was nothing compared to the nightmare RJ was facing. "I'll be back on my feet in no time." Not according to the doctor's recommendations, but since when had Bruce ever followed those?

But that reminded him of Leslie, and the way she used to shake her head when Bruce repeatedly jumped back into his work before she'd cleared him for duty. Leslie, who'd allowed a young girl to die just to send Bruce a message, and blamed him for all the children suffering under his tutelage. What would she say about Dick now? Would she blame him for that, too?

"Remember when things were good?" Cassandra asked, and it shook Bruce out of his thoughts a little. "We were happy. I miss it."

Happiness was relative. But it felt so long ago, when they were all a team in Gotham, even Dick sometimes. Tim had his father and Dana, and friends at Brentwood, Barbara teased him over the radio frequency, and Cassandra smiled on occasion. He wasn't fighting with Dick, and though Alfred spent most of his time with Tim, Bruce felt confident enough to handle life on his own, because he didn't need people in his house to drive away the loneliness.

Life wasn't perfect, by a long shot, but overall, they _were_ happy. "I miss Stephanie," Cassandra continued, speaking far more than typical, even if the sentences were all short and simple. "I miss living with Barbara. I miss working together. I miss Tim's smile. I miss Dick acting out Cinderella..."

"That was the past," Bruce said kindly. "We can't go back in time and change things."

Cassandra frowned. "I want to be Batman. That's my goal. But..." She looked away from Bruce, suddenly choked up, and it was startling because Bruce could count on one hand the amount of times he'd seen Cassandra cry. "I miss wanting to be you."

Those words hit Bruce like a punch in the gut, and again, he heard Jason's accusations in his mind. _"I don't even know you anymore! When did you get so angry?"_

Cassandra looked back at him with an expression caught between anger and pleading. "Is that the past? I changed... why can't you?"

A good question. And Bruce had a minimum of fifteen minutes to sit and think about it.

* * *

The original plan was to divide and conquer. Cassandra agreed to babysit Bruce and make sure he stayed put long enough to get over his initial 'burn-the-block-down-before-anything-else-can-hurt-me' reaction, and Tim got to deal with Jason. Honestly, he would have liked to trade, but Cass insisted Jason's physical cues indicated he liked Tim, had some kind of grudging respect for his replacement. Tim sometimes wondered if Cassandra just made stuff like that up, since there really wasn't any way to question her, but it was surprisingly hard to win an argument with the girl despite her adherence to simple sentences, so here Tim was, walking across the hospital lawn to Jason with nothing but a prayer to defend him.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" Seemed as good an opening line as any. Jason went on the defensive as soon as he saw Tim, and hatred radiated from him like the plague. Tim hoped Cass was right when she said it was all an act.

It looked pretty genuine from where he was standing. "What do you want, Replacement?"

"Thought you'd like an update. Since you're hanging around."

Jason scowled. "I'm not here for you guys."

"Sure. My mistake," Tim shrugged. "See you around, then. I want to spend some time with the little guy before surgery." And he turned to leave, but Jason caught him by the arm.

"Wait, fine," he grumbled out. "Just tell me if the kid's okay. If Bruce is adopting brothers and nephews all over the place, I deserve to know if they're alive."

Interesting choice of words. "You might have one less to worry about soon." Jason ripped off his sunglasses, and Tim was again treated to his eyes, a wide ocean combining the pure blue of childlike hope and the dark of a typhoon. "It's cancer. So after he makes it through surgery, he's got to put up with chemotherapy cycles and if that all works, he's going to need a lot of treatment to make up for how the chemo interfered with the natural growth process..." He stopped when Jason looked like he might pass out. "I looked stuff up. It doesn't look good. I don't think it's anything Dick hasn't already heard, but I can't talk to him about it, I'm trying to stay positive around him." Problem was, group morale was usually Nightwing's job. "I can't do that by myself. I want to, but I can't, and I shouldn't have to. I'm just a kid."

He needed Jason, weird as that was to say. But as much as Tim wanted to prove an adequate successor, he'd never resented the Robins who came before him, and he was being honest when he'd told Jason he could never compete, that he admired the other boy so much. At the moment, Jason wasn't that boy that Tim used to watch leaping across rooftops, but that didn't mean it was gone completely.

Not everything died back in Sarajevo. "You stopped being a kid the second you put on that uniform."

"You didn't." They all needed to pull together, none of them could go it alone. That was what Tim learned, and why he became Robin. But he had lost a little bit of his guiding light, and now fumbled in the dark. "You were life and hope and all the good things about childhood, right up until the end. You kept Bruce from losing himself, gave him someone to love."

"Yeah, and like a dumb kid, I didn't realize what I was giving up in the process," Jason snarled. "My life isn't a sacrifice to keep the old man sane. And I'm not throwing my heart back on the chopping block for him, or for Dick-Up-His-Butt." And he started to leave, but Tim called after him.

"Is this what Robin is, then? Something for stupid kids that we eventually grow out of?" Jason stopped, and Tim continued, suddenly feeling very exposed. "Because you and Dick both graduated into something else, Steph got fired from it, and I... I'm not sure what I stand for anymore. I'm a detective, like Bruce, and I think I'm becoming more like him all the time. The Robin I used to be is getting written over." He shrugged his shoulders, helplessly. "And I'm fine with evolving a little, I never thought I'd be Robin forever, but now it's the only thing left in my life, so what's the point of fighting it? Why not just throw away all the extraneous stuff like friends and family, and just solve crimes full time?"

That was pretty much his life now. A few friends in the superhero community, but not much else. He'd basically copied Bruce's move from back when he was arrested for murder, Tim hired an actor to pose as his uncle and dropped off the grid. No school, no needless attachments, nothing... until this baby showed up.

Now he had a light to shine on his life, to scrutinize his own hypocrisy. "After all, isn't that what you're doing now?" Jason did _not_ like that accusation.

"I'm nothing like him!" But the words got to him, Tim could tell.

So he pushed a little harder. "Is Robin something dumb that we eventually leave behind?" he asked. "Do we all become lone wolves like Batman, or is there a point to caring? Because I've lost so much already, and I know you have, too. So tell me," he said, hoping it didn't sound like begging, even if that's how Tim felt. But this all meant something to Jason once. "What does it mean to be Robin? Tell me if there's a reason for me to even hold on to this."

Jason was quiet for a moment, frowning down at the ground, and Tim worried that the older boy would just walk away.

But then, Jason looked up. "Batman solves crimes. Robin saves people. Saves Batman most of all." He didn't smile, but Tim somehow felt the encouragement radiating from the grim determination. "And Robin never leaves you, even if you grow up into something else. It's a _curse,_ " he emphasized, when Tim started beaming.

"Sure it is," he nodded, but the smile never dropped, and Jason eventually sighed.

"Whatever. You win." He put on his sunglasses and adjusted his hood to conceal his face again. "Let's get back in that waiting room. I guess we've got some people to save."

* * *

Dick Grayson had spent the past two weeks with a heart full of wishes and regrets. The past year, if he were being completely honest, maybe even longer. He wished for things and opportunities, he wished for second chances and re-writes, he wished for mercy, salvation and redemption.

But now, he didn't have the heart for any of that. Because that required thinking, and the more he thought, the more he remembered, and then he'd just fall apart again. He was needed, by the tiny baby in his arms and all the people surrounding him, so Dick had to pull himself together and be that pillar of positivity and capability. He had to be all right, because he was _always_ all right, and he was expected to be the one who kept smiling no matter what life threw at them. He'd had a moment where he broke down earlier, but he couldn't afford to do that anymore. Whatever mistakes he made that got him to this point were his responsibility to deal with, and he had to buoy everyone else up in the meantime, just like he always did.

So he shoved as much of his emotions to the side as he could, and focused his attention on RJ, who continued to rage and shriek, even clenching his little fists in a way that was adorable outside of the sad context. They were prepping for surgery now, so hopefully relief was on it's way, but there was no way to communicate the complexity of that to an infant.

"I know, you're _so_ mad at me," Dick soothed with a grin full of tears. "Everything hurts, and now I won't even feed you. It's tough to be a baby." RJ howled out his consternation, and Dick tried to keep a comforting smile, since that was all he could do. "Yeah, I bet you've got some complaints to give management, huh? You were promised a soft bed, everyone cooing over you and all the milk you could drink. Total swindle, bud." Dick paused and swallowed, no longer able to hold the tears back. "You were supposed to have so much, RJ. The whole world. I wanted everything for you, you have to know that." How much could a baby perceive of its environment? And how much would affect him as he grew up? There had been studies done on that, not that Dick had time to read them in depth, but he had a feeling RJ was responding to the loss and chaos around him, even if an infant didn't have the reasoning capacity to sort it all out.

"I know what it's like to not have a parent there. Both parents, actually. I never wanted that for you, my kid was going to have me and a mom and more love than anyone knew was possible." The best laid plans. "I'm sorry I screwed that up for you, baby. I didn't mean to, but now..." Excuses. What did they matter when his son was sobbing? "It sucks, I know how much it sucks, but I'm here. I'm here, and mommy can't hurt you or anyone else. The cancer is easier to fix than the emotional stuff sometimes, but you got a daddy that loves you, and he won't just leave you alone. I promise, I'm not letting you cry because I don't care..." The expressions of love didn't seem to make a difference to RJ, but it didn't matter. Dick kept repeating that he loved RJ and things were going to be fine, trying to be a source of calm and comfort in what had to be a terrifying time for a small baby.

It was pretty frightening for the adults, too. "Ever hear of hospitalism?" he whispered down to his son. "I read a webpage about it, little newborns who don't have someone to cuddle them, and these healthy babies start to get depressed and just die. I was so scared for you when we first met, you just lay there like a scrunchy-faced little lump." He softly tapped RJ's nose, and the baby scowled. "Mommy didn't cuddle you much, huh? And I bet the social services people were too busy to pay you a lot of attention. They were like that with me, too..." Dick sighed, thinking of how awful it must have been for RJ when Catalina didn't want him. Even with a baby's limited perception, it would be hard not to sense their own mother's rejection and the absence of anyone taking her place. "But one day with me and you started screaming. Yeah, scrunchy-face, you hated my guts, didn't you? Broke you right out of your funk." Nearly two weeks and the kid hadn't let up. But now, it wasn't stressful.

It made Dick smile. "That's how I know you're going to be alright, kiddo. You're a fighter, you don't just lay down and give up, even if things are really horrible. So you keep screaming, if you have to, and I'll pick you up every single time, and we'll get through this together, okay? Things might be awful for a while, but you're not alone anymore, Daddy's going to fight with you." Dick wondered if this was how Bruce felt when he first took a little circus boy in.

And for a second, one blessed second, RJ turned up his brown little eyes and held back his screams. "Yeah, kid, you drew the short straw in the life lottery, but it's not all bad, right? It's not all bad..." He stroked the kid's face and smiled. "No baby depression for you. You'll get cuddles all the time, I promise. The doctors can cure physical things, and Daddy's issues aren't your fault, so if you hang in there, things will get better. It's not all bad." And then the moment was gone, RJ screwed up his face and screamed again, broken up by a small cough that left tiny flecks of blood on his lips. Dick sighed and wiped it away. "Yup, keep screaming, show 'em you're a fighter. I'm right here, kiddo, I'm listening..."

He kept rambling like that for some time, until Alfred arrived. "Master Dick! I just heard the news!"

"Hey, Alfie..." He mustered a tired smile as the old man sat down beside him. "Tim told you guys, huh? Looks like we're going to be here a bit longer..." What a horrible day. "How's Bruce doing?"

"Disregarding his physician's orders, as usual," Alfred sniffed, which elicited a laugh from Dick. "But he's certainly had worse. I imagine he'll return to work in no time." Whether his body was fully repaired or not. Bruce could power through anything. He'd had his back broken and recovered with very little fuss. Yes, he'd chosen a psychopath to protect Gotham in the meantime, but other than that lapse in judgment, he'd soldiered on as always. Nothing shook Bruce.

But Dick, the boy he'd raised up and trained in his own image, _he_ fell to pieces on the job, he let his morals take a backseat to fear and selfish desires, he allowed other people to use him and now he was a basket case with a little baby in tow. Bruce could handle crime-fighting _and_ parenting, Bruce kept a grip on his emotions, Bruce controlled himself around women and didn't cross the ultimate line, even for the Joker.

He must have been so disappointed in Dick.

"You don't have to stay, Alfred." Because it would soon be a cold war again, and Alfred might be blessed with more compassion than Dick deserved, but he couldn't be defying Bruce. Like when he moved out, Dick had to handle things on his own, he couldn't go around Bruce's back to get handouts from the butler.

Of course, there was no way he'd be able to pay RJ's medical bills without Bruce, not since liquidating all his assets... "Where else should I be, Master Dick? I may not have the privilege of a legal binding, but you and I are still family, are we not?" He wanted to contradict Alfred. He should have, after everything Dick had done, he should be distancing himself from everyone, disappearing from their lives...

But it felt so good to have someone else beside him. "Thank you..." Alfred would find out the truth sooner or later, and make the choice to reject him then. Until that time, Dick could hold on to the lie for a few more seconds. "You really are the best..."

"So I've been told. Now..." Alfred put on his business voice. "When was the last time you ate? Or slept, for that matter?"

"I don't remember... It doesn't really matter..."

"On the contrary, it matters a great deal to me." Alfred gestured down at the little bundle of not-quite-joy Dick was carrying. "And young Master RJ can hardly be expected to change his own diapers if his father passes out from exhaustion."

Part of Dick laughed, and the other part felt sick at the reminder that he was responsible for the life of another human being. "Okay. I wanna stay up with him, though. I'll try to catch a nap once he goes to surgery. But something to eat might be nice." Not really, but he didn't think Alfred would let up without some concession. "I guess I am a bit hungry..."

"Very good, sir. I don't see any of our earlier meal in the vicinity, so I suppose I'll have to seek sustenance from the vending machines. Do you have any requests?"

"I don't care. You don't have to do this, Alfred."

"On the contrary, Master Dick." Alfred gave a gentle smile and spoke softly, "For all my medical knowledge, I know little of pediatrics or oncology. But I am an excellent butler." He placed a small kiss to RJ's forehead, then after a second, kissed Dick as well. "Please allow me to serve you in the only way I can."

"I love you, Alfred," Dick said without thinking, so touched that his voice dripped with tears. "I'm sorry about this, about everything, I..."

"Shhh, none of that now," Alfred soothed. His hand brushed through Dick's hair for a second, more affectionate than usual for the stoic, British man. He paused, and then said very kindly and seriously, "Dick, whatever you've done, or was done to you..." Dick flinched and dropped his head. "It will not change how much you are loved by this family. Certainly not by me. Even if you disagree," he broke in before Dick could argue. "You are so very loved, and nothing will ever alter that. Do you understand me?"

He did, but he also knew Alfred to be wrong. "I've done terrible things..."

"As have we all, dear boy. Love is not contingent on such things. Trust, perhaps, and if I have lost yours, I will endeavor to gain it back." Dick's guilt and confusion were at war, staring into Alfred's kind eyes. "Will you trust me on this, at least?"

He couldn't. Once they all found out, and the truth would have to come out eventually, none of these pretty words would mean a thing. And even if Alfred forgave him, even if Hell froze over and Bruce forgave him, what did it matter if Dick still hated himself?

But his mouth moved anyway. "Yes, Alfred."

"Good." Alfred stood up with one last comforting smile. "I shall return shortly. Some food in your system will do you a world of good."

"If you say so." He waved the butler off, then sighed. "If only my problems could be fixed so easily."

"I hope you're not expecting the kid to talk back to you," he heard the snide voice of Jason Todd interrupting him. "That would make you more unhinged than I thought."

"Very brave of you to come back," Dick said, mouth caught somewhere between a frown and a grimace. But Tim came on Jason's heels, loaded with picture books, so he doubted Jason had evil intentions. "Nice shades."

"If Clark can get away with eyeglasses, these should be more than enough for dodging security," Jason grinned. "I'm here incognito."

"Really? Then how did I see through your clever disguise?" Tim quipped, before plunking himself down in front of Dick and RJ. "Enough of that, though. The fun train has arrived!"

"What?" Dick was confused, but Jason joined Tim on the ground, and the two were generating enough enthusiasm to rival a sports arena.

"We grabbed some books from the children's area. RJ must be so bored, so we thought we'd entertain him a little!" Tim grabbed a book about a bunch of barnyard animals and opened it. "This one's a mystery! A duck goes around solving cases, kind of like your dad does, but with less parkour!"

"Yeah, that's not age-appropriate, Timbo," Jason broke in, brandishing another book. "Try this one about counting caterpillars."

"You can read that when it's your turn," Tim stuck out his tongue. "What do you say, RJ? Want your Uncle Timmy to read you a story?" And something in that caused Dick's guts to freeze.

"Wait, uncle? ...are you...?" The words felt like ash in his mouth. How did he let this get by him? "Are we... brothers? With everything that's been happening, I guess I forgot... that was going on... did Bruce...?"

Jason threw his hands in the air. "Oh, not him too! I started as an only child, then I get reincarnated into Full House!"

"Um, no..." Tim said hesitantly, to both of them. "I said no. It just felt... it didn't feel right. So I live alone now. Kind of a funny story, I'll have to tell you sometime..." He drifted off for a bit, and Dick felt hollow.

"Oh. Well, if you're happy, I guess that's all that matters..." But Tim was always shrewd, and gave Dick a curious look.

"Are you disappointed? I mean, last time we talked about it, you didn't seem down with the idea..."

"No, Tim, that had nothing to do with you! I swear, I just..." The complexities of his feelings at the time could never be understood, except perhaps by Jason. "I was in a bad place, and you were just so... We'd have loved to have you, all of us, don't tell me you turned Bruce down because of me?"

"No!" Tim said quickly. "No, I... it wasn't anything personal. Or, it was, but _my_ personal. Nothing to do with you. Promise." He didn't seem to be lying, but a part of Dick was filled with regret all the same. Maybe if he'd been more welcoming, less caught in guilt, maybe Tim would have wanted to be part of the family? Maybe if Dick hadn't felt like he was being replaced yet again, by the perfect pupil who didn't let crime bosses die or allow criminals to put their hands all over him... Bruce should have a son like Tim. Even Jason was a better human being.

They all carried such baggage over being successors and replacements, when Dick was the mistake all along. He was the one never wanted, tossed aside for better versions, and only adopted to try and fill the gap left by Jason. They should never have been threatened by Dick Grayson, or Nightwing, not when he made even the Red Hood look like a man of integrity.

But he couldn't bring himself to say that out loud. "It doesn't change anything," he told Tim instead. "You're still one of us. We don't need a piece of paper to prove it."

"Thanks," Tim said, with a nervous smile. "I actually felt bad for the longest time. Like, maybe if I'd have said yes, and we were real brothers... maybe you would have told me what was wrong. You might have trusted me, then..." How Dick's insides twisted, realizing the pain he'd put his family through even without the truth coming out.

"It's not that I didn't trust you," he tried, but couldn't go further. He hadn't told Tim. He still didn't want to tell Tim what he did. Not that perfect kid who looked up to him and thought he was the sun and the moon. The cute little boy he dedicated his last performance to, the one who grinned with him in the last picture he ever took with his parents, he couldn't shatter that image. "It's not your job to fix my problems. I'm an adult, remember? I can handle myself."

"Everyone needs help now and then, Dick. And I'm not scared to find out you have an ugly side." He flipped to the first page of his storybook. "Besides, we're all Robins. If we don't look out for each other, who will?"

Dick was quiet for a moment, and only RJ's crying was heard until Jason finally interrupted. "Is this the part where we hug? Because I'm not doing that."

"You're fine, Jason," Dick laughed, and it was a full, real laugh that filled his whole soul. A piece of real happiness amidst all the pain. He smiled down at RJ and held the baby up a little. "No, I think it's storytime. What do you say, bud? Want your weird uncles to read you a story?"

RJ might have just been responding to the change in position, but his little mouth curved into something that might have been a smile, and his cries were slightly less ear-shattering, so the boys took that as a yes. Dick sat back in his chair and listened to Tim and Jason reading children's stories with bizarre voices, and reminded himself of the advice he'd given his son just minutes ago. It wasn't all bad...


	8. Chapter 8

Computer keys clicked and clacked in a steady rhythm. The sound was soothing to Barbara, both something she could understand and something she could control. Unlike everything else in the room.

Her phone buzzed and Barbara debated for a few seconds whether or not to answer it. As badly as she needed a distraction, she wasn't sure if she was prepared to handle anything else. But with every passing second, this hospital felt like an enclosed bubble, and a rapidly shrinking one. So she stopped typing and answered the phone, not sure if she was actually hoping for anything on the other end of the line.

It was Clark, surprisingly enough. "Hey, Barbara! Just checking in. Everything all right? J'onn said you had a family emergency back in Gotham?"

"More or less," Barbara confirmed, glancing around to see if there were any potential eavesdroppers. Not that she planned on saying anything to revealing. "I'm still working on my "project", and I'll be back soon to talk in person. I just had to take care of things back home." After saying it, she wondered at her own phrasing. Saying 'back home' implied Metropolis wasn't a place she was going to stay in, that her roots were in Gotham and she would inevitably return. She'd left Gotham for a reason, because it _hadn't_ felt like home, she'd lost everything that gave her the feeling.

Not that a permanent return was out of the question, Barbara just liked choice, rather than the predetermination or assumption that she'd eventually end up right where she started. Her ability to choose had been taken from her so many times after all, another reason to leave Gotham and all it's ghosts.

"Anything I should know about? Can I help?" Nice of Clark to offer, though Barbara doubted even Superman could fix this. But it did give her an opportunity for payback, a chance to feel like she had the power again, and kick the legs out from under her idiot ex-boyfriend.

"Dick's baby boy is in the hospital. We're waiting for him to go into surgery now." It was fun to drop the bomb like that. One of the few pleasures she'd had since crossing the city limits. But _she_ was the one to deliver the message to Dick's idol, not the fanboy himself, and he'd be crushed.

Clark's silence was almost enough to make her laugh out loud. She might have, if not for the gloom in the current atmosphere. "... Dick has a kid? When did... Should I be congratulating you?"

"It's not me!" Barbara snapped back. Was everyone going to think that? Did she _look_ pregnant? "And who cares what dumb bimbo he knocked up, there's more important things to worry about!"

"I'm sorry, you two were dating for so long, I just assumed..." Clark trailed off, and he did sound genuinely sorry. "How old is he? And you said surgery, how serious is it?"

"Pretty bad," she admitted, now coming down from her rage. "Little thing's not even a month old and he's already dealing with cancer." Right, there were actually more important things than her bruised ego at stake. It was hard to remember that, when she was so used to fighting and scrapping just to keep people from sweeping her under the metaphorical rug and walking all over her.

Clark let out a low whistle. "Poor Dick." Barbara grumbled a bit, even though her heart agreed. But everything was making her mad today, and of course Clark overheard, as he always did. "You don't agree?"

"I do, it's just..." she let out a frustrated sigh. "Sometimes it's like he does this stuff specifically to hurt me. I know he doesn't," she hurriedly said, "But it feels that way."

"Because he dated someone else after you? Started a family?"

"He doesn't have a _family_ ," she sneered, trying to picture Catalina doing anything domestic or even supportive. The idea of her changing a diaper was absurd, or maybe that was Barbara's own derision coloring the thoughts. "You don't know this girl, but she's a deadbeat, a criminal. I don't know what was going through his head, he shouldn't have been anywhere near her." The fact that Catalina tried to kill her should have taken the girl off the dating market. Since when did Dick see murder attempts on his girlfriend an attractive quality?

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not-" That was a lie. And though Clark didn't have powers to detect it, it felt wrong to lie to Superman. "We're over. I should be over it."

"You loved him. We're all human." An interesting thing to say, for someone who wasn't actually a member of the species. "... I can't believe Dick has a son. It seems like only yesterday that he was running around in his little Robin costume." And Barbara was running around in her little Batgirl costume and the world was perfect. That was before clowns came out of the shadows and aliens came down from the skies. "Is he around, can I talk to him? Or just fly over? Anything I can do, for Dick or you?"

"This shouldn't be about me." And yet, she kept making it about her. Barbara just couldn't let this go. "But I don't know. I probably shouldn't have told you, he hasn't really gone public with it yet... And we've already got a good group here in the waiting room, with shots fired. Adding more into the mix might not help." Dick hadn't told any of them until the problem was too big to go unnoticed, so she'd already broken his trust by letting the secret out to Clark. Payback. It didn't feel as good as it did ten seconds ago. "And it might be good if you didn't go announcing this everywhere, the situation is a little weird."

"I understand." How could he possibly? "What do you mean, _shots fired_?"

Barbara wanted to tell, but wasn't sure if Bruce was ready to let the whole superhero community know about the resurrected Robin. She'd already dropped one secret she probably shouldn't have. "A long story." Clark grumbled something about bats, secrets and crazy Gotham. "Thanks for calling. I'll let Dick and Bruce know you're thinking of them."

"Thanks. Remember, if any of you need anything..."

"I know, you're our own personal Superman." She bid goodbye to Clark, then leaned back a bit in her chair. She actually did want to beg him to fly over, but she was right in saying the waiting room was getting crowded, and she wasn't sure how Dick would react to her telling Clark without his permission. Now that she'd done it, she kind of regretted it. But the man was only a phone call away, if Dick indicated he wanted more company.

For now, he seemed content to sit with Tim and Jason, who were taking turns reading children's books to RJ and making moronic faces. It was cute, and Dick looked something approaching happy, like he should be, finally having a child of his own. It was only the dream of his life, to be married and be a father, passing on all the good things he'd picked up from his various parental figures and building up a new family to replace all the deficits. Like a messed up stitch when knitting a scarf, he'd determined the next stitch would be perfect and then the whole row would hold together, even if one loop in the weave was faulty.

And God knew Dick needed to love something that would actually allow him his ways. Bruce refused to be helped, loved or protected the way Dick wanted to, and Barbara had some independence issues over it that had contributed to their eventual break-up. But that was how Dick was, he lost himself in other people, and given the absence of beings willing and nearby, he was starting to close off and turn into Bruce, especially as the problems with Blockbuster and the gang wars escalated. Barbara had actually considered buying him a puppy, just to give him an outlet.

A baby was perfect. Completely dependent and needing love and protection, Dick could pour all of that devotion into somebody who wanted it. And someone who would love him back, though that was an irresponsible reason to bring a child into the world, at least by itself. But Barbara couldn't think of another plausible explanation for hooking up with Catalina, except Dick was just _that desperate_ for a family, that desperate to not be alone.

But that didn't make this her fault. No, Barbara wasn't responsible for whatever dumb things Dick did after they broke up. But Dick was also right in saying those dumb things he did were none of her business. They weren't together, Dick could date whoever he wanted. Impregnate whoever he wanted.

After all, they wouldn't be having the whole miracle of childbirth thing with _her_. Their relationship was doomed from the start.

Barbara sighed and rubbed her eyes, then looked down at her computer with a frown. She hadn't been completely honest with Superman, as she hadn't been working on her little "project" with J'onn. Instead, she'd been looking up facilities, medications and side effects, treatments and varieties of pediatric cancers. By herself, since she couldn't bear to talk to Dick after they'd all exploded in the waiting room. She was embarrassed by what she'd said, and how little like a friend she'd behaved. She wasn't sure how to make it right, since there was no taking the words back, and honestly, she still had a lot of those earlier feelings. Just because she shouldn't have said them out loud didn't make them less true. And how was she supposed to tell Dick she was sorry when she still thought he was an irresponsible, unthinking idiot?

When she looked up again, Tim was standing in front of her. "Hey," he said in an innocent and non-threatening way. "Can I sit with you for a bit?"

"Need a break from entertaining the baby?"

"I just thought you might not want to be alone." Really? Because in Barbara's mind, being alone was exactly what she wanted. But Tim sat down in the nearest chair and smiled at her. "How are you holding up?"

"This doesn't actually affect me," she said, and typed a few random keys on her laptop to look busy. "It's Dick's life, I don't have a part in it."

"This affects all of us," Tim said in his diplomatic way. He smiled at her. "It's not bad that you care."

And that's when Barbara sensed the ulterior motive. "Look, if you think that Dick and I are going to get back together and raise this kid all happily ever after style, that's not happening. The world doesn't work like that."

"I'm not expecting a big romantic scene. I just miss having you as a friend. All of us do." His smile never dropped, or lost it's purity. Even though Barbara knew Tim to be more devious and secretive than Bruce. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"Who cares if I'm okay? _I'm_ not the one going in for surgery, and I'm definitely not planning on getting domestic with Former Wonder, no matter what mind games you're trying to play."

Now Tim lost his smile. "Barbara, you didn't join Batman's operation because of Dick, and I'm a little insulted that you think you're not part of us just because you broke up. None of us actually care about the status of your relationship right now." He stood up and made to leave, and Barbara winced.

"All right, I'm sorry," she called him back. "You're right, I have a part in this. I just..." Wished she didn't. Wished she could just call Dick an idiot and not feel anything. "I'm used to fixing your problems. And this one is beyond Oracle." Her power had been taken. Her _choice_ had been taken, even if that was a little selfish. She would never be the mother of Dick's child, now someone else had gone and stepped in the empty role, taken away even the opportunity to come back and explore other avenues of parenthood with him. Even if she wanted to get back together someday, his first child wouldn't be an adventure they took together.

But she'd broken up with him, gave that up, as she'd been reminded. Now she was useless. What could she do, but sit on the sidelines and pretend she was still relevant to all of this? "I haven't been in Gotham for a long time," she said. "I guess I don't really have a place here, anymore."

"You always have a place, you're family," Tim reassured. "And no one's expecting you to save the day or marry Dick or anything big. We just need a friend. Right now, we could use all the friends we can get." He looked hopeful. "So, friend, can I sit with you for a bit?"

Barbara felt guilty again, for turning everything into a big drama about her, but she shelved it. "Sure. Pull that chair back up." It was nice to have a friend in the midst of all the chaos. She tilted her laptop screen towards Tim. "I've been looking up news articles on cancer in babies. There's a lot of cases where they survived and went on to live healthy lives."

"Really?" Tim seemed encouraged, hopeful. Of course, there were far more cases where they died or had horrific complications afterward, but Barbara kept that to herself. A friend's job was to be encouraging, after all. "I bet Dick would love to hear about this."

Barbara looked over to Dick, Jason and RJ. "Yeah..." It would be an icebreaker. Something nice to say, remind him that hope was not all lost. And maybe an apology wouldn't be out of place, even if she still thought he'd been out of his mind to ever touch Catalina. Being nice, admitting you were wrong even if you weren't ready to concede everything, that was what friends did, right? "I guess it might cheer him up..."

"Yup." But Barbara wasn't quite ready to go over to him, and Tim seemed to sense that. "Tell me more?"

So she did. She sat with her friend and they drew strength from each other, and once she'd gathered her courage, she'd roll over and share it with Dick. Just like their team, their family, always had.

* * *

After Tim left to talk to Barbara, things got awkward.

Just Dick and Jason.

Two guys who'd never liked each other that much anyway, now grown up and minted brothers by law and resurrection.

Just sitting there...

… Thank goodness for RJ, it gave them something else to focus on.

But Dick had to admit, Jason wasn't so bad now that they had a common interest and they weren't embroiled in some contest to prove which one of them Daddy loved best. He was actually kind of cute with RJ, though he only managed to hold the kid for about thirty seconds before handing him back and declaring he didn't want to break anything.

So, not babysitter material. But he read a mean 'Cat in the Hat'. Dick smiled as he settled RJ back in his arms, and was still amazed that he actually felt happy. Or something like it, just for a second. He looked between Jason and RJ, looked over to Barbara and Tim, looked around the deceptively cheerful hospital room and marveled. There was so much to be miserable about, so many reasons he, Dick Grayson, did not deserve to be happy right now, the biggest one being the poor, squalling state of RJ, but still...

This was good. This moment was a good thing. "So, what's it like being a dad?" Jason abruptly asked, startling Dick. For Jason's part, he looked like he hadn't expected to ask the question either, certainly didn't expect an answer, and stared up at the ceiling like he hadn't said anything at all.

Dick could only answer honestly. "I'm not really sure, yet..." He looked down at RJ, as if he'd find the answer there. "It's different." Different like a wrecking ball through the living room. But not all bad. He'd find words later, when thinking wasn't strewn with hidden landmines and barbed wire.

"Hm." Jason looked away from the ceiling, now at the left corner of the room. Anywhere but at Dick. "You weren't planning on it, right? That's the vibe I'm getting from everyone."

"Yeah, it blindsided me just like the rest of you." Again, like a wrecking ball. He tickled RJ's cheek a little, and was rewarded with a small inclination of the baby's head. No laughs yet, but Dick supposed he wouldn't laugh much either with a tumor growing in his midsection. RJ had quieted down a bit from before, though that might not have been the best of signs, given the circumstances.

"Do you want him, though?"

That question shocked Dick, mostly because he'd been thinking nothing else for days on end and the answer wasn't as simple and crystallized as it probably should have been. "Yes." It wasn't a lie. Not quite the truth, either, but... "I love RJ." _That_ was true. It took a while to figure that out, but it was true and real and absolute. "I just wasn't expecting him."

Jason nodded. "Yeah, I don't think my old man was expecting me either." Well, _this_ was starting to get personal. "But you're doing a better job than he did. I think you're a pretty good dad." That bar was set abysmally low, but it was still the best compliment Jason had ever given him, so Dick decided to take it as sincere.

"Thanks."

"You're a better dad than a brother." Oh, wow. Maybe not a compliment, then? It had honestly never occurred to Dick that Jason _wanted_ him to be a brother. His presence was rejected and resented at every turn, and the few moments of camaraderie they had usually ended with Jason feeling patronized and twisting things around until Dick lost his temper or his mind. All that time he felt Jason was pushing him away, maybe he was actually reaching out?

"Jason, I-"

"I think you tried to be," Jason continued, still not looking at Dick and apparently not stopping for input. "Maybe not super hard, but more than anyone expected you to, I mean... I was Bruce's kid, and you were just some guy who used to live there." They weren't family. So, a mixed compliment, not exactly an insult. But it still hurt to be reminded of that time when Dick had no family and no home, another boy taking his place in Bruce's heart without even a word from the other man to indicate they were _anything_ to each other.

It still produced pains in his chest. It always would. "I think I get that now," Jason said, his voice a bit softer and reflective. "I didn't back then, but now I do. It was my job to make that happen, not yours."

"I don't think it was _our_ job," Dick mused. Maybe Bruce's, he was the stupid parent in their messed-up, blended family. "Besides, you had that cute-but-annoying little brother act down pat. My issues had nothing to do with you." Didn't he just say that to RJ earlier? Dick's problems were always hurting the people he cared about, even without meaning to. He was poison, infecting anyone who got too close. "Maybe if we'd have been raised together..." If Dick had been adopted, if Robin had been a true passing of the torch... "I dunno, maybe things would have been different?"

"Maybe." Jason was quiet for a second, then blurted out. "But it doesn't change anything. I still hate you."

Dick sighed. "Sure, whatever."

"Not completely. Just mostly."

"I can live with that." He almost smiled when he saw Jason vainly pretending not to care about Dick's response. "I think you're a pain in the butt. But not completely." And Jason's lips curled up a little at the ends.

"I can live with that." He wasn't sure if this denoted a truce or not, but Dick thought it likely that Jason wasn't making plans to murder him in the near future, which was probably progress. "Not a complete pain in the butt. High praise from the Golden Boy."

Dick groaned. "Don't call me that."

"What, you prefer 'His Royal Highness'?"

"Stop it!" He said that a little more forcefully than he probably needed to, but it was a sore point with Dick. The Golden Boy, perfect and flawless, on a pedestal so high it was impossible to stay balanced, and the fall was enough to kill. "I hate that name." He didn't even know how he'd earned it. By the time Jason showed up, Bruce was cursing Dick at every opportunity.

But golden boys didn't have bruises on their faces, or have to rationalize how they got there. Dick held RJ close, partially for comfort, and partially to add to the ever-growing mental list of "Ways Daddy Is Screwed Up That We Are Not Going To Pass On." If Jason resented him that much, Dick would trade places any day. "It was always you, Jason. You were so loved, and Bruce just fell apart after you died."

Jason rolled his eyes to show he'd heard it all before, and didn't care. "Yeah, I'm sure he got real weepy. Right between adopting you and hiring Replacement and that dead chick to take my place."

"Really. After you died... he kicked me out," Dick said, and that got Jason's attention. "Took away the keys and everything. His son was dead, and if he couldn't have the real thing, he didn't want the fake hanging around..." That awful fight. Bruce blamed Dick for Jason's death, and maybe some of it was deserved. Dick had blamed himself a little, too, even before arriving at the graveside. Just like he'd blamed himself for Barbara's tragedy... Bruce hadn't verbally condemned Dick for _that_ , didn't repeat that if he hadn't left Gotham, hadn't been so insubordinate, hadn't insisted on being Robin in the first place it wouldn't have happened, but Dick thought it was implied. Bruce probably blamed him for Stephanie, too. Jack Drake was another innocent who would never have suffered if not for Dick's entering and vacating the Robin costume, they could throw that whole family on top of his guilt pile.

And even if Bruce didn't blame him, by some miracle, there was still the awful truth Dick heard that day. Knocked to the floor, looking up to Bruce's nearly rabid face screaming how much he regretted ever having Dick in his life, it was a moment he'd never be able to forget. Bruce would rather leave Dick to the mess of the foster system, rather have Dick die as Robin, if it meant Jason continued to live as his son. "You never had to compete with me, he loved you so much."

"Just not enough," Jason muttered, and Dick gave a sigh. Bruce was such an idiot, if Jason honestly didn't know.

"Why? Because he didn't kill the Joker? He does that _because_ he loves you." That earned a skeptical look. "Think about it, what if he had killed the Joker to avenge you? Back then, or even right now, think about the moment after. If he went out and blew off his head today, picture looking him in the eye and tell me what you have, where that leaves you." Because Dick might never understand what it was like to die or be resurrected, however _that_ happened, but he did know what it was like to plunge your hands into blood and filth. "What does it change?"

"I know, it makes you just like them, I've heard the speech," Jason mocked, but his heart wasn't in it. He seemed to be actually considering the question.

"That has nothing to do with it. Bruce's rules and ultimate lines only work for him," Dick said, and it was a small miracle he kept his voice steady through that. He shoved away any ironic echoes and kept talking, "He can preach all he wants, but in the end, it's about a smoking gun and how you feel about it. And he feels he loves you too much to pull that trigger."

"That makes no sense."

"Bruce's best friend was Harvey Dent," Dick explained. "Great guy, until mental illness took over his life. Bruce used to visit him all the time, and always hoped Harvey would be able to heal, turn his life around. But Two-Face isn't going to get better until he wants to, so Batman keeps catching him and the courts send him back to Arkham, until he breaks out again."

"The Circle of Life," Jason mocked, but Dick ignored him.

"Thing is, Two-Face probably does deserve death. He's done horrible things, beat me nearly to death once, and I bet Bruce wouldn't mind returning the favor. The odds of Harvey Dent ever cooperating with treatment and getting better are next to nothing. But Bruce can't kill him, because that means giving up on his friend. It means some people are lost causes, and there's no chance they'll ever do good in the world again. Some people's lives are so worthless that their future can be thrown away."

Jason sneered. "The Joker definitely qualifies."

"If Bruce kills the Joker, even to avenge someone he loves, he's saying some people are irredeemable," Dick repeated. "That's just how he sees it. If one person's a lost cause, then there are probably others. And if he gets to decide someone's life is worthless, why can't other people? If he decides that someone is _that_ hopeless, in his mind, he's giving everyone the same license to judge, even if they've never known desperation or suffering. The people who believe a kid is doomed to be a thug because of where he was born, what his parents did, or a couple bad choices, that he'll never belong or be worth anything, no matter how nicely you dress him up..." Dick saw Jason making the connection in his head. "Bruce thinks that if he takes a life, he's giving people the right to decide that kid's worthless, too."

Dick let that sink in for a second, and focused back on RJ. He rocked the kid a little and wondered where they were going to be in ten or twenty years. Because Dick's reasons for not taking life were very different from Bruce's, mostly in that they weren't as strong or defined until recently, and that had all fallen apart for him when he met Blockbuster. And one day, despite all best efforts, RJ was going to find out the kind of man his father truly was. Dick would never be able to say anything without sounding like a hypocrite, but hopefully he'd be able to raise his son with enough of a moral code to be ashamed, rather than take after him.

That was a grim future, to hope that his kid would one day grow up to despise him. Meanwhile, Jason shook his head. "That's so dumb."

"That's Bruce," Dick shrugged. "He gets these ideas in his head and clings to them like gospel, it doesn't mean he's always right." But woe unto the fool who dared to nail that letter to the church door. "The important thing is that he loves you. He won't do what you ask _because_ he cares, not the other way around."

"This is so messed up." That it was. Dick hummed a little as he rocked RJ and let Jason come to grips with how he felt about that little speech. Maybe it wouldn't matter that much to him in the end, since it didn't seem like Jason had any desire to return to life the way it was, and goodness knew Bruce would never let go.

But that was the dark side, the side Dick didn't divulge for fear of ruining whatever good moment he was having here. Bruce always left the option for reform open, even to the likes of Two-Face, but he hadn't been to visit his friend Harvey in years. He hoped for the man's redemption, might even be able to forgive the atrocities committed, but their friendship was over. And if the Joker achieved some sort of magical turnaround and devoted his life to good works and charity, Batman would let him go in peace, but he would never forget.

And Dick? Yeah, Bruce wasn't going to literally _kill_ him, might not even drag him off to Blackgate Prison. He'd give Dick every opportunity to atone, brutal as the process might be, because he had to believe people could change, that they deserved to change.

But it didn't mean he'd ever trust Dick again, and he'd _never_ love him again. Those were gifts that had been squandered, and Bruce didn't have to forgive. The fact that Bruce would probably throw open the manor door and kill a fatted calf if Jason would just walk away from the whole Red Hood thing now, and that Jason didn't see how rare of an offering that was, that stabbed Dick to the core. He didn't blame Jason for rejecting Bruce's path in life, and he was in _no_ position to judge the new methodology, but to dismiss the great well of love the man had for him seemed like such a tragedy. The packaging was juvenile, as was Bruce's grip on feelings and expressions thereof, but the gift was sincere.

Dick lost everything with Jason's death, something his negligence only played a small part in. Now he had a real death under his belt. And he didn't have any of Jason's excuses to absolve him.

"Am I interrupting a serious discussion, boys?" Alfred said as he returned with the promised food, none of which looked appetizing to Dick. But he accepted a package of crackers with a lackluster smile.

"Nah, we could use a distraction, have a seat. And thanks for the food."

"Of course." Alfred sat down in one of the chairs and offered Dick a can of juice, with a face that demanded he take it. Dick did, but as soon as the liquid hit his throat, he felt like throwing up. "Master Jason, how nice to see you've returned."

"Bruce isn't right behind you, is he?" Jason asked with a skeptical glance down the hall, and Alfred smiled.

"Master Bruce is engaged in other business at the moment, but will arrive as soon as he can." He smiled at Dick, one that was not returned. "He wants nothing more than to be here, I assure you."

"Yeah, I bet he's got a lot he wants to say to me," Dick muttered, and Alfred frowned. He looked between Dick and Jason, both miserable now that Bruce's name had been brought up, and he cleared his throat.

"Sirs, I know this has been a trying time, and one where high emotions might not have revealed everyone's best sides..." Jason gave a snort, which Alfred ignored. "But Master Bruce cares deeply for both of you. He always will."

"Yeah, until he kicks us out, apparently," Jason retorted, and Dick flinched. But he was right in saying Bruce's love was conditional, and Dick had lost it. Once Bruce learned everything that happened that night, it was all over for him. Jason, perhaps, still had a chance, clearly not being completely in his right mind. He was hurt and confused, and though he'd crossed the line and killed, his mind was obviously clouded by pain and trauma. Bruce could still forgive that, if Jason met him halfway, and he'd hang on to his son a lot longer than he'd hang on for... whatever Dick was to the man this week. It was probably Dick's fault Jason had chosen this path, anyway, either because he'd contributed to Jason's death, or because Jason had subconsciously chosen Dick as a role model and followed in his abysmal footsteps. "Sorry, Alfred, I'm not exactly feeling the love here."

"Well, then," the butler said crisply, "There is one thing you would do well to remember. Master Bruce may hold the deed to the house, but I hold the keys." He waited until Dick and Jason both looked up and met his eyes. "Fight with him if you wish, but I care for you both as well, and the doors will always be open to you. Please don't forget that again, or I will be very cross." And his face certainly promised that, enough that Jason laughed a little.

Dick couldn't. Alfred didn't know the truth. Alfred still thought he was that perfect, golden boy with excellent grades and an innocent nature, who was obedient and eager to please. Even now, with suggestions that Dick had finally been shaken off the pedestal, Alfred still assumed the best of him.

"Well, we can't have that," Jason drawled, warming up to Alfred and allowing his posture to relax. Dick felt like choking, or drowning. He wished, not for the first time, he could leave RJ in this wonderful circle of love and just disappear. But he couldn't, even if he secretly feared the boy would be better off without him in the long run, and so Dick curled his arms around the baby in his arms and forced himself to nod. This would have to be enough.

A balancing act, a grand show, like when he was young, Dick would hide the truth for a bit longer, be that happy, golden boy for as long as he could. And as long as he did, he would have Alfred's kind words and caring eyes to get him through, Tim's admiration and cheer, Barbara's intelligence and exasperated affection, Cassandra's quiet strength and Bruce's grudging assistance. And some sort of pseudo-brotherly thing with Jason. He needed to stop thinking about how he didn't deserve it, and how much it was going to hurt when he finally fell and lost it all, and just enjoy it.

Jason was laughing openly, like he had before the Joker, and Alfred was cooing at RJ, who actually curled his pouty lips into a sort of smile for a few seconds. And Dick forced himself to swallow his awful feelings, save them for when he was alone and no one was depending on him to be the perfect one. For now, this was enough, and this would get him through.

No, he amended, as Jason picked up another children's book and Alfred called them "his boys", bringing Dick and Jason together in that familial context for the first time, this was more than just enough. He allowed himself to lean into Alfred's shoulder a bit as Jason started reading aloud again, and he nuzzled RJ for a few seconds. This was special. And even if it all disappeared with the inevitable reveal of Dick's crimes, it was still something real to hang on to.

After all the awful circumstances that led them to this moment, wedged in among the pain and misery, was a perfect, shining moment of happiness. And it looked like even a lost cause like Dick deserved a few of those.


	9. Chapter 9

It was hard for Barbara to get Dick alone. Maybe she could have just wheeled right into the rest of the group, but she felt it was better to make up in private, especially since she herself still wasn't exactly sure how that conversation would play out. So she waited, tensing every time someone moved or gave Dick a little distance, but even after RJ was finally taken off to surgery Dick remained surrounded by their firneds. It was looking hopeless, until Tim figured out what Barbara was trying to do and intervened.

He sent Dick over to the vending machine to buy Barbara a candy bar. A little juvenile, a little obvious, but it worked. She rolled over to him and he handed over a Snickers. "Hungry?"

"Thanks." And then there was silence. Dick shifted his weight a little, and looked like he might leave, so Barbara put a hand on his arm to stop him.

But she couldn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. "Need something, Babs?"

He asked about her. She was making him ask about her, by being needy and demanding, and that wasn't who Barbara Gordon was. This shouldn't bother her like it did, it shouldn't be affecting her on a personal level to this degree, to cause her own pain and suffering. She should feel sympathy for _Dick_ , concern and camaraderie, not like she had been wronged some way.

Because she hadn't. No one had hurt her. So why did she feel like they had? "Do you? Need something, I mean?"

"I've done all I can do," Dick replied with a weary shrug. "It's all up to the doctors, now." Barbara nodded, and silence fell again. The two of them remained in the hallway with all of their history spread out between them and clogging up the atmosphere. Eventually Dick dropped to the ground, squatted on his heels so he could look Barbara in the eye, and said, "Babs, you're not okay. What do you need? Anything, I'll do it."

"I'm fine," she snapped, hating that people kept asking that, hating that she kept pulling the focus onto her. She wasn't some needy, teenage girl who needed to make everything about them, she was a grown, controlled woman who could back up the entire Justice League, she assisted others with their problems! Why was she falling apart over someone else's tragedy?

"You're not fine, no one is," Dick said, and his face looked so pleading. "Please. Let me do something good. A distraction, at least." And the more he begged with his big, blue eyes, the more Barbara put up walls. She should have been comforting him, not the other way around.

"Clark called. I told him RJ was in the hospital. He said he'd fly right over if you needed him." Was it a confession, or a nuclear bomb? She wasn't sure.

Either way, Dick looked stunned. "You told Clark?" Crushed, that was his face. But not the disappointment of a boy who wanted to reveal a surprise and had been beaten to it, or even the abashed face of a teenager who maybe had been caught doing something embarrassing or against parental rules. This was the face of a man on Death Row, sitting in front of a pane of glass as the person he loved the most watched disapprovingly from the other side. Barbara knew that expression, but she wasn't sure why she kept seeing it on Dick.

Actually, Barbara knew a lot of expressions, a lot of scenarios and emotions, none of which had any place with Dick.

Dick swallowed, then shook his head, replacing his initial reaction with a soft concern. "Are you trying to make me hate you?"

That snapped Barbara to attention. Was she doing that? "No, I..." But she trailed off. She didn't know what she was doing, and she was used to being the _only_ one who knew what she was doing. Dick smiled a little, and shuffled a few inches closer.

"I didn't do this to hurt you, you know." She knew. She knew, and she still hated him for making her feel this way. Why? "It wasn't that I, well... I wanted to do this with you, the right way. If we'd have worked things out back then..." But that was why everything was so hard.

"It could never happen, Dick." He looked like he'd been slapped.

"Right..." Did he think the problem was him? Yes, she'd broken up because he needed to get his head on straight, stop smothering her all the time, but the sexual aspect of their relationship was... well, complicated, but not his fault. He got to his feet with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I was being an idiot."

"No, wait." Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose and waved to a chair by the vending machine. She couldn't let the conversation end like this. "Just sit. We need to talk." Dick looked nervous, but it was Barbara who needed to confess. She took a deep breath. "You know I can't have children, right?"

Apparently not. Dick looked her up and down, finally settled on her face and said with a bewildered voice, "Why?" When she gestured to the chair, he continued to look astounded. "Lots of women with spinal cord injuries get pregnant. I looked it up, a spinal injury shouldn't affect your reproductive system."

"You looked it up?" Dick blushed a little. "Why didn't you just ask me?"

The blush gave way to a frown, and a building anger. "Well I might have, if you ever told me things," he retorted, leaning in so they could drop their voices to whispers. "You never tell me stuff, Babs! Not what you're thinking, not what you like, not what you feel or _don't_ feel-"

"I don't have to tell you everything!" she hissed back, and Dick had a hushed explosion.

"We were having sex! You should be able tell me what makes you feel good, at least! Or that none of my moves are doing anything for you! Why couldn't you talk to me?"

"I didn't know, okay? I was still figuring it out," Barbara muttered, and again, Dick looked like he'd been personally attacked.

"Well, we could have figured it out together," he said. "And having kids, I know it might have been more _complicated_ , but we could have talked about that, too. I'd have been there for you."

"Yeah, wrapping me up in cotton wool until I choked," Barbara sneered, remembering their last fight. "You're thinking too far ahead, Boy Blunder. We couldn't even handle dating, parenthood was never on the table." When Dick fell silent, Barbara sighed. "Besides, it's more than just complicated. Maybe other women can still have kids after an SCI, but I can't. Even before the Joker showed up, I probably still couldn't..." There. Said out loud. She waited while Dick processed that.

"Oh..." A beat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Like I said, wasn't on the table."

Dick looked at his hands. "That's not why you broke up with me, is it?"

"No, pretty much the reasons I already gave you. But it's probably for the best. We'd have argued about that eventually." She caught his eye and smiled. "And you just melt for little babies. You'd be miserable if you knew you couldn't be a dad."

But Dick didn't return her smile. His voice was very serious as he said, "Barbara, why do you think I, of all people, would consider not having biological kids a deal breaker?" Touché. Dick's history gave him enough motivation to foster all the parent-less children of Gotham, he knew first hand how rewarding adoption could be, and it wouldn't be a first for her side of the family, either. "It's something else, isn't it?"

"I don't know." And that, at least, was honest. She didn't know if she wanted to be a mother, and if she did, didn't know if she wanted to do that with Dick Grayson. She didn't know if she wanted to someday go through all the effort and risk it would take to have a natural pregnancy, if she wanted to consider surrogacy, or adopt or foster a child. Years and years, and she still didn't know.

The only thing she did know was that someone else had swooped in and taken the opportunity to decide away from her. Like always. And yes, Barbara was a little bitter about that. "This conversation isn't going anywhere I wanted it to."

Dick laughed at that. "And where were you trying to steer the good ship Titanic?"

"Towards an apology." Oh, this was why she loved Dick. She hadn't even fully finished her piece, and already he was radiating forgiveness. This hallway in a hospital, full of fear and drama, felt like home, just like the Clocktower did whenever he was around. "I'm sorry for what I said, and for telling Clark without asking you. I haven't been acting like a friend over this, and I apologize."

Dick's smile was genuine, and a little sad. "It's fine. We're all stressed, and I'm not proud of the way I blew up, either." Yes, that... his words were vague, but they filled Barbara with all those uncomfortable feelings, the ones that triggered the idea that she was the victim, not him. Why was that? "I think I get why you were mad. I'd have been hurt, too." But not like this. Jealous, yes, petty hurt feelings, sure, but this was a pain that seared straight into Barbara's bones, and she didn't know why. Because Catalina had tried to kill her? If it had been another girl, would she feel differently?

After a few seconds, Dick took a shuddering breath. "If it makes you feel better, Catalina wasn't my girlfriend. She never was."

"It did seem a little weird for you." So, a rebound. A one-night stand, somewhat out of character for Dick but not completely unheard of. "Look, it doesn't matter. I was wrong to blow up like that, so you don't need to pretend she seduced you or that you regret it or whatever. You can make big-boy decisions and have a hot night with whoever you want. You didn't owe me anything." He hadn't cheated on her, and Barbara wasn't being replaced, or substituted, not that it should matter after their relationship ended.

But while it did make her feel a bit better, it also made her feel worse. So did the way Dick just gazed at her, as if puzzling her out. "You're the strongest person I know," he said, a trickle of reverence and awe in his voice. "I've never thought you were weak or less than others for the things you've been through. You've always been _Barbara_ to me, you're so much more than all the outside stuff."

That was so touching and honest, piercing enough to break through her walls. She tried to think of an equivalent compliment, but couldn't off the top of her head, and just settled for, "Thank you."

"May I ask you a personal question? Like, really personal..."

"I guess," she narrowed her eyes and looked critical, and Dick held up his hands.

"I mean it, you don't even have to answer, if you don't want to, just don't hate me for asking." When he got the desired permission, and the assurance that he was allowed to ask, he took a deep breath. "Why did you only testify against the Joker for the shooting? Why not get him for the other stuff?"

It was like an explosion of liquid nitrogen went off in the hospital. Barbara hadn't known things could feel so cold.

No, that was wrong. She _had_ felt this way before. When...

"I'm not answering that," she answered in an icy voice, and Dick got the message.

"Okay. I'm sorry." He sat back, and both were silent.

But finally, Barbara had to ask. "How much do you know?"

"That there were pictures." He shifted uncomfortably. "It's your business, Babs, it doesn't change anything."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I... don't know." He wrung his hands a little. "I guess I just wanted to know how you felt about it. I know, it's not like I had any right to ask in the first place..."

"You don't. That's _very_ personal, Dick." It wasn't that it hurt to think about, it was that it hurt to even get _close_ to thinking about it. So Barbara detached, filed the whole incident under "That Horrible Day" and shut the lid on it and though about it as infrequently as possible. Maybe that wasn't the healthiest way to deal with it, but it was just too overwhelming to sift through. "I'm not ashamed of it. The Joker's the criminal here, not me." But it had _hurt_ , had been _humiliating_ back in that moment, and she didn't want to return there. "So if you think I'm some wilting flower who needs your saving grace, you can get over yourself and-"

"No, Babs, that's not it at all," Dick insisted, his protests somehow strong and weary at the same time. "It's fine, we can drop it. I think I got my answer anyway." She wasn't a big fan of Dick gleaning things from her that she hadn't decided to reveal, but dropping the subject completely seemed like a good idea.

Until she saw Dick's eyes. She'd seen those eyes in the mirror once before.

And then, that sick feeling, that victimized feeling at Dick's actions began to make sense. It wasn't that Dick had done something to hurt her.

This situation was triggering her displaced _empathy_. "Catalina... she wasn't your girlfriend."

"No." Dick wouldn't look at her.

"You... you really asked her to stop..." And then he looked up, but Barbara almost heard his heart rate speeding up, heard his quickened breathing.

Lying through his teeth. "I was in a weird place. Not the first time I jumped into bed with someone I shouldn't have."

"Doesn't sound like you did the jumping." That had to be wrong, and Dick agreed, because he burst into laughter.

"That's crazy, Babs!" Was it just her, or did the laughter sound a little fake? "I'm Nightwing! I've gone up against metas like Deathstroke! I could have fought her off if I wanted, it's not she tied me up in chains."

"But-"

"I mean, it's actually insulting. Not just to me, but RJ, too," Dick said, talking a little too fast, a little too emphatic. "What you're suggesting would make him a bad memory, what kind of dad do you take me for?" That wasn't the issue, but Dick rushed on before Barbara could point that out. "That would mean I'd go back and change things if I could, that if I could rewrite time, I'd make it so he never existed!" His ocean-blue eyes were deep enough to sink an armada. "What kind of monster puts that on a little kid? I made a mistake with Catalina, I can admit that, but I'm not blaming my son for my dumb decisions. It's not his fault."

Barbara stared. He'd certainly dropped enough clues now, if she'd missed the earlier signs. But what did she do, what could she say? _That_ aspect of Barbara's trauma was treated so differently than the gunshot wound, she didn't know what to offer, and then there was the sheer incredulity of it all. Was he drugged? Lied to? How had it happened, when Barbara herself had fought off Tarantula from her _wheelchair_? If he hated it so much, how did he get aroused? Why didn't Dick report her to the police?

And the more she thought about those questions, the more her mind returned to her own situation, lying naked on her floor while the Joker took pictures.

It would be so easy to just accept Dick's words, let him come to grips with this on his own terms, as she had. But Dick wasn't her. He needed different things, and she didn't know where to begin with that, or if she even _could_.

"It wasn't your fault, either." He didn't believe her. She could tell that much. And he didn't want to, because admitting that meant the incident, and everything that resulted, were bad. He was crying for help, but couldn't ask for it directly without implying that RJ was an unwanted consequence.

This was such a mess. "You think I'm the strongest person you know?" she asked, prodding Dick until he gave a small nod. "Well, you're the one I look to. So what does that make you?"

"A really good actor?"

She turned up her nose at Dick's self-deprecating joke. "It gets better. You'll be strong, too. Just give yourself a little time to get there." She took his hand, and any protests he was about to make died on his lips. "I had a couple lost moments along the way. But it gets better, Dad-Wonder." She pulled out her laptop with the hand that didn't have Dick's, and let him pretend he wasn't trying not to burst into tears. "Now, I've been researching cancer treatment centers. There's a lot of good ones not too far from Gotham, some of the best doctors in the world. I figured you had enough to deal with, so I started the work for you. The stats are very promising." And she opened her laptop and scrolled through the data, watching a smile slowly return to Dick's face.

"You're the best friend ever, Babs," he said. "I almost forgive you for telling Clark behind my back."

"I'm going to be in debt for that one for years, aren't I?" Babs hummed, but her mind was elsewhere. This situation was a nightmare, Dick had something horrible that he could only barely admit had happened, and it was only the cherry on top to all the other drama around them. Worst of all, as she was repeatedly proving, Barbara couldn't do much to support Dick without delving into her own issues, some of which she wasn't ready or able to deal with yet.

But she kept squeezing Dick's hand and scrolling through webpages, because she could at least do that. If nothing else, she could do this thing and that would have to be enough for now.

"You're going to be fine, Dick. Catalina's the criminal, not you." It was probably a more direct statement than Dick appreciated, but still vague enough that he didn't immediately throw up his defenses.

He actually squeezed her hand back. "Thanks." Then, after a beat, "I love you. Not in a 'please date me' way, but.."

"I know. I love you, too."

* * *

It took Bruce far longer than fifteen minutes to be able to face Dick. In fact, it took a whole fifteen minutes just for him to get over 'How-Could-You-Hurt-Me-Like-This-Didn't-I-Give-You-Everything-Dick-Why-Did-You-Do-This-To-Me?' The _next_ fifteen or so minutes were spent hating himself for thinking any of this was a personal attack from Dick and wondering where he'd failed as a guardian to get them in this situation. And of course, why didn't Dick trust him or try to talk to him about his problems?

So it was a good hour before he finally felt he could finally focus on Dick's pain and what he could do to show he cared. It was long enough that Tim wandered by to check on him and Cassandra, and offered a piece of advice.

"Sometimes looking at the big picture can paralyze you. Just look at the little picture for now."

Well, the big picture was rather terrifying. When Bruce finally made his way into the waiting room where Dick was, RJ had been taken in for surgery. Nothing to do but hope for the best, something Bruce didn't do. He didn't hope, he made circumstances bend to his will.

But that wouldn't help here, nor was it what Dick really needed. So he smiled at Barbara until she got the hint and left Dick's side, and Bruce took the seat next to his boy. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine..." Likely not. He look like he hadn't slept in weeks, barely ate, and he honestly might not have. Nobody had any way of knowing, because nobody had been around to notice a problem.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"It's okay..." Dick rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them and head pressed to his thumbs. Possibly crying, possibly staring catatonic into space, Bruce couldn't see his face to know.

"I also apologize for what I said back at the motel," Bruce gently continued. "I'm still extremely concerned about all of this, and worried at some of your behavior lately, but that was neither the time nor the way to begin that discussion." The young man beside him was silent, but there was a tension in his shoulders Bruce didn't like. "I'm so sorry, Dick. Especially for yelling, that was uncalled for."

"I kind of egged you on," Dick mumbled to the ground, but Bruce wouldn't take the out.

"It's still no excuse. We don't have to get into it now, but when you're ready to talk about it, I promise I'll be more rational. I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"How many painkillers did they give you?" Dick chuckled for a bit, then let the topic drop.

Bruce almost felt it smashing on the floor. They sat quietly for several more minutes, the only sound a shuddering breath from Dick when Bruce hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.

He wanted to say it would all be okay, but he couldn't. That wasn't like him, that wasn't honest. He couldn't promise things he couldn't control. And he wasn't sure how to comfort someone, when he himself had wrapped himself in a cloak of grief and clung to his pain like a weapon.

But he had to try. "I'm right here," he softly said. "Talk to me."

Dick's voice was so choked, Bruce almost didn't catch the response. "I miss Dad."

It felt like Bruce's blood had been replaced with ice. "...oh..." That was something Bruce couldn't make right. "What would he do if he were here?" Perhaps he could bring comfort by proxy?

"I don't know, maybe he'd yell at me, too," Dick shrugged, a bitter chuckle in his throat. "But I've never needed him or Mom so much. I wish they were here..."

Bruce felt his heart breaking, but rubbed Dick's shoulder and merely said, "I'm sorry." It was all he could do. Even tracking down a Lazarus pit wasn't an option at this point, even if Jason wasn't currently demonstrating what a monstrously awful idea that was.

"You've been great, Bruce. You didn't have to do so much for me," Dick said, voice growing even more quiet and vulnerable, if that were possible. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course," Bruce said. "You're my son." It was easier to say that than, "I'm your father." Because he wasn't, John Grayson was Dick's father, and that was what Dick wanted now, what Dick needed.

But he hadn't set out to replace anyone, not when he first took Dick in and not when he'd drawn up the adoption papers. He sighed, and reminded himself of Tim's words. Forget the big picture, all the side things that didn't matter right now, and focus on the little one. He had a son in distress, and wanted to love him. "I'm worried about you, Dick. And yelling at you wasn't the best way to get that across, so if you don't want to talk to me now, I understand. But when you _are_ ready, I'm here for you. I'm not angry or ashamed of you for anything." And that got a reaction out of Dick. He lifted his head and looked to Bruce with tear-filled eyes.

"I... I messed up. I didn't mean to, but I did, and now everything's..."

"Everything's fine, Dick. I'm right here, and I'll get you through this. I promise." He wasn't expecting Dick to burst into tears, he wasn't expecting arms to wrap around his waist, or for the warm feeling that suddenly washed through him.

Right. This was how things used to feel between them.

"I love you, Bruce, I didn't mean to let you down," Dick sobbed, and Bruce allowed his arms to encircle his boy.

"You didn't, chum, I swear." That old nickname had fallen out of use so long ago, but felt so right to use now. "And you're going to be fine. It hurts now, but it's not the end of the world. I promise you'll get through this."

"You promise?" He'd forgotten how deep Dick's trust in him went, how much power a few simple words held. How could he forget that he was once the sun and moon to this boy, and to Jason? No wonder his sons were lost, if the very lights in the sky had seemed to stop shining for them.

But no more. "Didn't I just say that? You'll be fine, kiddo, I've got you." And Bruce continued to whisper assurances into Dick's hair until the boy finally ran out of energy and fell asleep.

* * *

"Dick. Come on, chum, wake up." Hours later, Dick was still passed out, head lolling on Bruce's shoulder, and he looked so peaceful that it was a shame to wake him.

But necessary. The night had been long, long enough for Tim and Cassandra to run out for a quick patrol, despite Bruce's disapproval. Gotham City was still a no-vigilante zone, the cops would shoot them on site, but without Batman's shadow hanging over the streets, they didn't want the criminals to feel complacent. For once in his life, Bruce let his control slip, though he regretted that almost immediately and spent the night fretting over their safety.

They returned in one piece and laughed at him, but Bruce had been unable to leave Dick's side. He'd done that enough already. Now though, he had the job of waking the young man. "Dick? Wake up, this is important."

"Nnn, what?" Dick mumbled, but regained his senses quickly when he saw all of their party assembled there, along with the surgeon. "Oh, God..."

"He's fine. RJ is recovering now, and stable." Thank goodness Dick was already sitting down, for he looked like he might faint. Bruce kept a grip on his shoulders, just in case. "You can go see him as soon as you like."

"Now!" Dick was on his feet and looked about to dash off without even waiting for the doctor, but he paused for a second and looked back at the assembled family and friends. "Guys, I..."

"Yeah, we get it," Tim said, before pulling Dick into a hug. Bruce joined soon after, and he felt Alfred fit himself into the side. Cassandra forced her way into the hug, while Barbara apparently swatted Dick's ribs and muttered something about tall people before reaching up to wrap her arms around his waist, and the group shuffled and crouched to accommodate her into the circle.

Finally, Bruce turned his head and reached out a hand. "Jason..."

The boy took a step back. "Yeah, not my scene, Brady Bunch." But Bruce kept his hand outstretched, wondering and hoping and saying prayers of gratitude for all the sons that had been brought back, not knowing how to verbalize any of that to Jason.

But finally, Jason grimaced and allowed his wrist to fall within grabbing distance, and Bruce took the chance. "You get one hug out of me, old man, just one," he warned, but Bruce just pulled him into the group hug, where arms encircled and entangled them both until neither stood a chance of breaking apart.

The feeling was unlike anything Bruce ever felt before. Even better than when his parents were alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**A delay, then a bunch of chapters at once. Not very steady, but a lot of these scenes felt like they needed to drop together. Hopefully I'll be more consistent in the future... I know it's heavy to take a lot of this at the same time...**

* * *

"Hey, there! Hi, my sleepy baby~" Dick cooed down at RJ. The little baby lazily blinked it's eyes through the plastic box that encased it, seeming almost comically confused, though Tim couldn't really claim to know what went on in a baby's head. He waved through the plastic, wondering if RJ even understood the gesture or how much he recognized Tim at all.

Dick carried on like nothing was out of the ordinary, and reached his hand through one of the holes to stroke RJ's arm. "Yeah, finally came around, did you? Do you feel better?" RJ responded by screwing up his face and letting out a mewl, but it died down quickly, unlike the hours of constant wailing they'd had before. "Poor RJ, can't be any fun to have tubies up your nose, no sir..." Tubes, monitors, all but isolated by clear, plastic walls... Tim could only imagine the distress, especially for someone too small to understand that all this was supposed to help.

For the visitors, the worst part was the waiting room. They weren't all allowed in the NICU at the same time, so Dick remained with RJ constantly, and the rest took turns joining him one at a time, or sometimes in pairs, if it wasn't too crowded with doctors and other parents. "You did so good, kiddo. I'm so proud of you. Surgery is hard, trust me, we've had our fair share," Dick grinned over at Tim. "But you came through all healthy and strong, you're the most badass little baby on the planet, yes you are~!" Tim could have stood there for hours listening to Dick's happy rambling and watching RJ breathe, two things he'd been in danger of losing, but he suspected Bruce might actually break down a wall if forced to wait outside for too long, so he whispered a quick goodbye to little RJ and took his leave.

Bruce rushed in immediately after, and Tim eventually gravitated to Cassandra. By now, everyone had had at least a few minutes to see RJ and reassure themselves that yes, the storm had calmed, and it was a relief to see tensions starting to dissipate. Tim worried that Jason might disappear now that they had some concrete news on RJ's condition, but the older boy still lurked around, and while he stayed out of sight, usually reappeared when someone called his name.

Still all under one roof. He turned to Cassandra, and the two began to take stock. "Okay, so..."

"So..." Cassandra repeated, a bit of a smirk in her eyes, as if asking "What now?"

Tim could only observe. "Things are looking less hostile around here."

"Jason still has a gun." Of course he did.

"Think he'll fire it?" Because that would certainly shatter whatever fragile peace they'd established. But Cassandra furrowed her brows and thought, probably analyzing Jason's movements and body language.

"Probably not," she eventually decided. "Especially if Bruce stays good." The odds of that were about fifty-fifty. Bruce couldn't deal with change. He'd been brilliant when he'd first returned to the waiting room, better than Tim could have expected, and there was hugging and crying, the man had even gotten Dick to open up a little. More importantly, got him to take a _rest_ , and a little sleep did wonders for Dick's mental state. Bruce remained level-headed and supportive right up until RJ was brought back from surgery, and then Tim could see things starting to buckle under the strain. He kept it together outwardly, but the stress at all the new elements was getting to him, and he pestered doctors with questions constantly in an attempt to feel like he had control. Tim eventually had to remind Bruce of the fifteen minute rule, that if things took a dramatic shift and he felt overwhelmed, Bruce needed to remove himself from the situation until he had gotten himself back under control. And not Batman control; if Batman and his emotional range showed up in this hospital, they could kiss goodbye any chance of Dick opening up further.

But so far, things had been good. Bruce kept his temper, even when Jason deliberately tried to rile it, and was able to remain focused on other people. It was a good sign.

Still, the whole experience had revealed something to Tim. "I've been watching these people since elementary school," he told Cassandra. "I know everyone's drama, I've seen more than my share of awful since being Robin, watched all of us fall apart at one time or another. But not one of us ever went to see a therapist. Not even me, and I got into this gig specifically because Bruce was cracking and refused to get help, so I knew the signs."

"Barbara did," Cassandra pointed out, and that was true. Part of her recovery mandated that she talk with a therapist over adjusting to her new life and capabilities.

"Yeah, but I think she only discussed the chair-related stuff. I talked to her earlier and I'm telling you, some hell-storm is going down with her." Tim shuddered at the thought, because of all of them, he was sure Oracle was the one with their act together. He was depending on that, actually, for _one_ person to not have crippling psychological issues and be able to moor the others during the high waves. "And I don't know how you're doing, but I'm barely hanging on. I think I put on a brave face, but if RJ hadn't made it through surgery, I would have..." And he had to stop there, because he suddenly ran out of voice. His throat was tight and full of water, he couldn't speak. "I..."

Cassandra put her arms around him somewhat awkwardly, but despite her obvious discomfort, it did help. "I'm sorry," Tim said through the tears that suddenly demanded to be shed. "This is stupid. This is the downhill part, right? It's supposed to be easy... I should be there for Dick, why am I just losing it?"

" _First cast out the beam out of thine own eye,"_ Cassandra said, _"And then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."_ Tim actually pulled back in shock.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

Cass shrugged. "Bible."

"You read the _Bible?_ " Last time he checked, Cassandra couldn't read a drive-thru menu.

" _Steph_ read it. For a case. Matthew was a clue." When Tim continued to stare, she sighed. "Serial killer named Matthew, wanted to get rid of hypocrites. Old case. But it's a good quote, so I memorized it."

Yes, it did seem applicable to their situation. Tim wiped his eyes and looked at their little pseudo-family. "How did we think we were possibly okay?" They were broken and blind, every last one of them.

"Can we fix it?" Tim almost didn't answer at first. After all, he was starting to see the beams in his own eyes, magnified by tears.

But he sighed. "Someone has to. Dick needs professional help, he's starting to scare me." Cassandra nodded her agreement. "But he won't get it on his own, not if he thinks Bruce thinks it's weak or something."

"Privacy breach."

"That too," Tim nodded. "So we've got to make _that_ happen. And goodness knows Bruce should have started seeing a therapist decades ago." He crossed his arms and felt himself trembling, even though they'd already made it through the scariest part. "And I need a break. I think you do, too." They wouldn't be any good to anyone if they couldn't take care of themselves first.

Cassandra smiled. "I have an idea for fun." But she grew mischievous and wouldn't tell Tim, focusing instead on one of the other problems. "Alfred can make Bruce do anything. Maybe he can help?"

"I'm sure he's tried. But you're right, we're going to need his help." Surely Alfred attempted to get Bruce to see someone as a child, when the eight year-old failed to move on from his parent's deaths? Then again, it was another time, another era. Psychology was a less respectable science, and the issues of mental trauma less understood. Even in the past decade, huge strides had been made in that field, so it's possible that taking _Dick_ to see a grief counselor wouldn't have been an obvious necessity, let alone when Bruce was a child. And especially for such a high-profile family...

Tim frowned. "How is Alfred? He's been running around helping everyone else, has anyone looked after him?" That produced a flicker or remorse in Cassandra's brown eyes, and she pressed her lips together.

"Alfred first. Then we take a break."

"Alfred first," Tim agreed. "And we pray these knuckleheads don't burn the place down without us." They found Alfred a few feet away, tidying up the waiting room and tossing out the various trash and coffee cups they'd accumulated over the hours. Completely in sync, Tim and Cassandra approached and wrapped their arms around the older man's waist.

"Oh? What's this?" he said with great surprise, and Tim smiled.

"We just wanted you to know you're amazing, and we appreciate it."

Cassandra agreed, and added, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, my dears..." Alfred slipped one arm around each of their shoulders and squeezed them close. "I do believe I will be just fine. Thank you for your concern." When they pulled apart, his eyes were full of kindness. "I fear I have not given you much attention in all this excitement. Is there anything you need?"

"Nah, we're actually going to take off for a bit, clear our heads," Tim replied, feeling a little bit guilty, but needing it all the same. That short patrol he'd taken with Batgirl had been the happiest few hours he'd had since the craziness started.

Alfred didn't judge them for it. "That sounds wise. Go, enjoy the fresh air. Take care of yourselves for a bit." He smiled and sent them off, and soon Tim and Cassandra were actually walking away from the waiting room, out the door, away from the hospital.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off Tim's shoulders, and he burst into tears again. "Where to?" he asked while trying to hide his puffy eyes and red nose.

She just grinned. "Follow me."

* * *

Bruce wasn't sure what to make of the little baby in front of him, and on the other side, he was pretty sure RJ didn't know what to make of him. So man and baby stared at each other, gaping and analyzing, until Dick started to laugh at them. "Yeah, scrunchy-face, who is that big, scary man? Don't worry, he thinks you're the scary one, so don't make any sudden moves or he might run away!" Bruce didn't really appreciate the teasing, but had to admit that he had a small, silent bout of panic every time RJ let out a cry or flailed his tiny hands, always assuming it was a sign something was wrong.

In all honestly, RJ was probably doing better than Dick was. Though Dick seemed happy and confident enough when talking to the baby, he clammed up and became nervous when Bruce asked him a direct question. Still, it seemed a little sleep and the success of the surgery had taken some of the weight off his shoulders, and Dick seemed less likely to throw himself out the nearest window. There was still a lot Bruce needed to say and do in that regard, but it did seem like improvement.

And in the meantime, there was a grandson to deal with. Now that the drama had dissipated somewhat, Bruce was starting to see RJ as an actual person, less an accessory or detonated bomb that had disrupted the family. This was a tiny thing now, who would grow into a toddler, a small child, a teenager and eventually an adult. He would soon display a personality, choose paths in life and eventually grow up to start a legacy of his own. It was mind-blowing to think about.

"He's adorable," Bruce offered, and Dick gave a shy smile back.

"He looks like Dad..." He tickled RJ's hand. "You got his eyes and his skin and when you stop being so bald, you'll probably have his hair," he giggled down at the baby, truly delighted. "Yeah, my brown little cutie, you look more like him than I do..." Bruce raised an eyebrow, not entirely understanding Dick's feelings on this matter. Then again, he never had, though he tried his best. "I ended up looking more like Bruce here. It's anyone's guess how that worked out."

Bruce barked out a laugh. "You don't look like me at all!" Eye and hair color were such small things in the overall composition, and even the shape and texture of Dick's eyes and hair bore far more similarities to his parents than to Bruce. Maybe in a grainy photo where the features were hard to distinguish they could pass for genetic relatives, but not when they actually stood side by side. Up close, in real life, it was fairly obvious that Dick only barely passed as white, and even then, only in North America. In Europe, they identified him as "ethnic" from a hundred feet away.

But still too white to be fully accepted by other Romani. Until Yoska showed up, Dick was used to hearing he "wasn't a _real_ gypsy, not _really_ Rom". Dick took it in stride, and once confided to Bruce that his great-grandfather was actually a white man named William Cobb who'd married into the Romani line, and the scandalous rumor was that his son was actually a bastard, which would make John Grayson only half-Romani, if true. "So when Dad married Mom and had my pale self, that was the last straw," Dick had shrugged. "You can be born and raised in a culture, but blood is what really matters in the end." Gotham society certainly thought so, because those people never let him forget he was a "gypsy", even if that people themselves didn't consider Dick so.

It had been... difficult. Bruce hadn't known how to navigate that aspect of Dick's life, and hadn't become any more knowledgeable by the time Jason showed up, a similar situation, but more socioeconomic than racial. The best he could do was treat them as he had been treated, and try to listen when they talked about their differences. He hoped he'd provided a good home in that regard, but it was not so long ago that Dick tearfully declared he was not as well-adjusted as Bruce thought, and now, Bruce questioned everything.

"Well, there's a lot of you in his face," Bruce said. "He's got your nose, and that's definitely your smile."

"How can you tell?" Dick mock frowned at RJ. "Are you smiling at the scary man? Why no smiles for me, bud?" RJ blinked and spit some drool, which Dick reached in to wipe up with a sigh. "You're teasing me, I get it. You're doing all the smiling behind my back." He stuck out his tongue, then turned to Bruce with a frown. "You don't think he actually hates me, do you?"

"He's a baby, he can barely see thirty inches from his face." Bruce rolled his eyes, but regretted being so dismissive when he saw that Dick was genuinely worried about this. "He doesn't hate you. You're reading too much into this, Dick."

"Okay..." Dick wiped his hands several times on his pants and appeared to be psyching himself up. "So... what story should we tell the media?"

"What?" The topic was such a departure, and Bruce had kind of forgotten that a world even existed outside the hospital.

"Well, sooner or later people are going to figure out that you have a legal grandchild, especially with you spending so much time in the pediatric wing. When they do, stuff is going to blow up. Everyone's going to want to know who's the wife or girlfriend, if you're excited, if he's inheriting anything..." He looked nervous. "It was a pretty big mess when you adopted me, so I understand if you don't want to deal with that again..." Of course, Ra's Al Ghul was behind most of that mess.

Bruce frowned. "What are you suggesting? That we should keep it a secret?"

"Or make a public statement," Dick said, eyes averted. "I mean, the Wayne family is kind of a big deal, and it's all tied up in the company. Stock actually dropped when you adopted me, people expect stability and they want to know things will be in good hands if something happens to you. If it gets out that I'm sleeping with criminals and having illegitimate kids, that affects you. You need to pick your stance before the media starts spinning the truth however they want."

"The company is the last thing I care about right now, or the tabloid rags."

"Yeah, but that company is your parent's legacy, and it's the thing that lets you afford your night work," Dick pointed out. "And I've embarrassed you enough already."

"Dick..." Bruce paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. "You're not an embarrassment. You never were. And I don't care how any of this looks to outsiders." His son crossed his arms and looked suspicious.

"That's not what you were saying earlier." Back at the motel, when Bruce was driven by fear and pain, and like Batman, channeled that into anger and vengeance.

Not his finest hour. "My concern was for you. And myself, I suppose. I was scared, Dick, and it came out as an attack. But it was never about you disgracing me, it was always about your safety and your future, your ability to move in the world and have all the things I wanted for you. It was about you becoming the brilliant man I know you can be. That's all it's ever been about, it's the core of every fight."

"Really?" Dick was extremely skeptical. "Every fight?"

Bruce had to pause, but he'd spent rather a long time thinking about this, at Tim's request, so he felt confident when he said, "Yes. Every time I yelled or pushed you away, even the times I criticized you, it was always out of love and worry. And I know that doesn't make it right," he rushed out. "I know I'm wrong, it's just... I don't know how to do this." He shrugged his shoulders, feeling helpless to admit it out loud. "I don't know how to share, I don't have to maintain friendships, my whole life has been about me." Alone in a giant house with a butler who did just about whatever Bruce wanted. "Until you came along. That was the first time I ever had to consider someone else."

Dick remained quiet, and Bruce didn't know what to do about that. Alfred had been an exceptional guardian, under the circumstances, but Bruce still didn't have a lot of instances where he'd been disciplined. People rarely told him he had to do things, or that there were consequences money couldn't solve. Luckily, the memory of his parents kept Bruce fairly in line, but perhaps they would have taken issue with his behavior had they been around to do the job of parenting themselves. As it was, he didn't know how to talk to Dick about anything.

Every time the boy got hurt, it was as if Bruce was standing in that alley watching his parents die. Every slammed door and furious word felt like seeing the hearse pull out of the funeral home. Every decision that took Dick away from Bruce in any context felt like dirt being shoveled onto the coffins.

He needed to _grow up_. But no one had ever shown him how. He hadn't even wanted to learn.

Dick uncrossed his arms and turned his focus back to RJ. "Well, that's great, but it still doesn't answer the question of what we're going to do."

He needed to stay focused on the small picture. He didn't have the skills to handle the whole landscape at once. So he stepped over to Dick and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to make sure RJ has the best care available. People can say whatever they're going to say, but you and I are going to look after our family."

"Our family..." Dick repeated, and his eyes filled with tears. "Bruce... would you still call RJ that, if I wasn't?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Dick pulled away, shrugging off Bruce's hand and shying away from further touch. "I've done some bad things. And when you find out..."

"You think I'll turn the two of you out in the cold?"

Bruce was almost offended, until Dick replied, "You have before." That was sobering. Maybe true, but clearly he saw the situation differently than Dick did. "Just... you wouldn't blame him for what I did, right? He's just a little kid, none of this is his fault..."

"Dick, what are you talking about?" But the more he asked, the more Dick looked on his way to having a panic attack, so Bruce closed the gap and wrapped his arms around the young man. "Okay, I've got you. It's fine, you don't have to tell me now." Dick clutched at him and let out a sob. Bruce had to clamp down all his instincts, the one that ordered him to demand Dick spill his secrets, because there could be danger on the horizon, or if not, Bruce was supposed to fix things. It was obvious that Dick couldn't handle this alone, and Bruce should be taking over. He tried to suppress those thoughts. "Shh, it's okay."

"It's not," Dick insisted, and he struggled a little in Bruce's arms, despite clinging to him only seconds earlier. "I'm poison, I just infect everything! You shouldn't even want to touch me!"

"Well, I do. You're my son, remember? You have one, too, don't you? You know what that's like." Dick stilled a little in Bruce's arms, and the man felt brave enough to continue. "I'm not as skilled at this as you are. You might have to teach me how to respond, especially when things get difficult. But I promise, the feelings are the same." He patted Dick on the back, then pulled him even closer. "Even at your lowest moments with RJ, when he was screaming, pooping and puking over everything, did you ever stop loving him? Even with all the painful memories and experiences he brought with him, even if you sometimes felt like running away from all the responsibility, was there ever a moment where your heart didn't beg to have him close?"

That, at least, was something he'd learned. He wasn't good with _how_ to love, but he knew that he _did_ love, truly and deeply, and Dick Grayson was proof that Bruce hadn't completely turned into a sociopath without his parents. When he doubted himself as the Batman, wondered if there was anything good in his life at all, he thought of how much he loved Dick, and the world didn't seem so dark.

Someday, he would learn to turn that love outward, even when he was scared and grieving. "I know I've hurt you, and I probably don't even know how much, but do you really think anything could make you stop loving that little boy? Because I haven't stopped loving you for a second."

"Bruce, I..." Dick trailed off and collapsed helplessly against the other man's broad chest. "I'm so lost! I don't know what to do..."

"Then just hang on and breathe. I'm right here for you," Bruce said. "And even if I'm not..." he was forced to admit, "It doesn't make you poison, or unlovable, or anything bad. It means I'm the problem, not you. And you've got the rest of the family to hold you steady in the meantime," he finished with Tim's earlier words of advice. Bless Tim, that little genius, Bruce would have to thank him repeatedly when he saw him next. "You're perfect, Dick, and RJ is perfect, and I could never stop loving either of you."

"Why couldn't you be like this before?" Dick whimpered into his shoulder. "Where was this side of you when I needed you?" He didn't specify what that moment was, but Bruce remembered one of the last times he'd seen Dick in the Batcave, after the gang wars, when he was still hobbling around on a pair of crutches and looking like death warmed over, begging Bruce for help, comfort, and answers.

Bruce tried, he really did. He wrapped Dick up in Batman's cape and tried to say something, but either it hadn't been enough, or hadn't been what Dick needed at the time. When he turned around, Dick had disappeared, and Bruce had little contact with him until RJ arrived.

"I don't know," Bruce had to say now. "I'm sorry." Why couldn't he be this side of himself when tragedy struck? Where was this side of him when Dick dropped out of college, when Jason died, when Jason returned to life? When Vesper was murdered, when Tim quit, and quit again, and again...

Once more, he heard Jason's condemning question, " _When did you get so angry?"_

Bruce didn't know. For the sake of his family, he would have to find out.


	11. Chapter 11

"So, where are we going, Cass?" After several buses, Tim was getting a little impatient with trying to guess their destination. Cassandra continued to insist it was a surprise, but finally, they stepped off the final bus and the short girl pointed to a skate park. "Here?"

"Teach me how?" It would be a good distraction from the drama of the hospital, but it seemed an odd choice for Cassandra.

"I didn't realize you had an interest in this stuff."

"You had a skateboard. It looked fun." She shrugged. "I could use fun." Couldn't they all? So Tim agreed to teach her, and they went to a nearby rental hut to rent some equipment, since neither had brought any.

Tim managed to find a bright red skateboard, and snatched it up instantly. "Ah, reminds me of the ol' Redboard." He grinned fondly, remembering skating all over Brentwood on that thing, until it got shot during a kidnapping attempt on a classmate. All his memories seemed to start happy and then end in a dark place. He'd never gotten around to fixing that thing.

Cassandra smiled as she acquired her own skateboard, and then the two of them went out to the park. It wasn't especially crowded, but there were a few extremely talented people currently occupying the half-pipe and gaining some attention. Tim suddenly felt a little self-conscious.

"Okay, so I hope you're not expecting me to be as good as those guys," he said nervously, "Because I was only decent on this thing, not Tony Hawk, you know..."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Just teach me how to ride." And so he did. For the next few hours, he and Cassandra made slow loops around the skate park, and Tim instructed her how to balance, how to turn, how to stop, and when she seemed to be picking it up quickly, they started trying out the few little tricks he knew how to do. Tim suspected that Cassandra really didn't need all that instruction. For someone so adept at mastering the body and reading the moves of others, she probably learned more from watching the more talented skaters and imitating them. A few minutes of watching those guys on the half-pipe and Cass would probably be able to duplicate their technique.

But it was still nice to share this with her. Skateboarding was a part of Tim's life that had been shelved away since moving to Bludhaven, and he wasn't even sure he'd pulled it out that much since they'd all moved to the smaller house. No, this was a hobby that existed when he was young and happy, when he had Dad and Mom, or at least Dad and Dana, something that gave him joy outside of the Robin costume. It came bursting with memories of Gotham, of Crest Hill, of Brentwood Academy, of all the people he knew and of Tim Drake most of all.

Little skateboarding Timmy was a real person, with a life in the daytime and a mask at night. He was full and complete. Now, Tim Drake felt more and more like a formality, a thing that needed to exist because a teenager disappearing suddenly would just inconvenience everybody. But it wasn't like "Tim" had a life going on when he wasn't Robin.

Until now, when that life was going up in flames _again._ "You know, we've only been at this a couple hours and I think you're somehow better than me." He narrowed his eyes at Cassandra, but playfully. "Care to explain that?"

"I'm a good student." Probably watching the other, better skaters. Tim was half-tempted to just let her loose and see what else she'd picked up, but he was enjoying the time having Cass to himself. It was nice to hang out with her as a friend, instead of spending evenings stitching up each other's bullet wounds. "Do you need a break?"

Actually, now that he'd started, Tim felt like he could go for hours, but he thought his muscles might kill him once the adrenaline and endorphins wore off. "Yeah, a break sounds good." They walked over to a small hill and plunked themselves down on the grass.

From there, they had a great view of the park and all the skaters. Some on skateboards, others on roller-blades and various other devices Tim wasn't familiar with. One guy on a segway, probably trying to be ironic. It was a diverse crowd of people all at different skill levels, but one thing in common.

They all looked happy.

"Do you ever miss your life before the cape?" Tim asked, then regretted it instantly. Cassandra frowned at him, and shook her head. "Yeah, I know, that was a dumb thing to ask."

"Not dumb. I can still have regrets," she said, but didn't elaborate. "But you miss it?"

Not really, when Tim thought about it. He wasn't sure when that life even ended, if he wanted to count it from putting on the Robin costume or from stalking Batman and Robin from the shadows. "I miss some things. The things I can't get back. Somehow, I thought I would be Robin for a certain amount of time, and then just go back to being a normal person." He leaned back a little. "But now I'm not sure if that was ever a possibility. How could I go back to goofing off like a normal kid with all that training under my belt? See a bad thing happening and knowing I could do something, but not acting? Every time I looked at the newspaper, I think my conscience would want me back on the streets."

"Maybe Dick was right. Joining the police," Cassandra clarified. "Doing good things without a mask. Maybe we don't need Batman."

"Blasphemy!" Tim teased, then sobered up. "Maybe, but the 24/7 crime-fighting gig hasn't been working out real great for him, even if he cleaned up Bludhaven a little." Still, Tim could see himself working in forensics or CSI, or maybe he had a future as a lawyer? Back when he had a future in front of him, at least. Now, everything was wrapped up in Batman's mission. "It just feels like I'm drowning in everything, like Robin and Batman are bigger than I am, and I'm just a little cog in the machine to keep the whole thing going until I break and have to be replaced with a new one..." Like that role was more important than his actual identity.

"I won't care if you quit," Cassandra said, not in the unkind way it could have been meant. "I'd miss you. But you should be happy."

"See, that's my problem, why should you have to miss me if I quit Robin? Are we only friends because of the superhero thing?" He was scared to find the answer was yes, and not just for Cassandra. "And why does it feel like my happiness comes at the expense of helping people? And yeah, I realize it is totally dumb of me to be concerned with my _identity_ when everyone around us is losing their lives or their homes and getting shot up. It's a really stupid thing to worry about when Dick's got... all his stuff. But I can't just push it aside and get to work anymore."

"Do you have to? Why can't you be helped? Why can't happy people help Gotham, or Bludhaven?" Tim wasn't sure he fully understood Cassandra, and she looked a little frustrated with herself as she tried to find different phrasing. "Dick was happy. He made us smile. Now he doesn't, and life sucks." Cassandra gestured to the Gotham skyline. "People aren't happy. They're sick, or scared, or hungry. Other things. They need someone to save them from that, too."

"You're saying... whatever makes me feel good about my life is still useful to the mission?"

Cassandra's face gave away that this wasn't quite what she'd been trying to convey, but she eventually rolled her eyes and gave up. "Yeah, sure. That's close." Tim burst out laughing, and after a few seconds, she joined in.

"That doesn't change that Dick and Bruce need me now," Tim said once he'd calmed down. "Or that the people of Bludhaven need a protector, or that Gotham's only slightly better than a war-torn country. Everyone needs Robin, or Robin in Tim's clothes. And once this crisis is over, another one's just going to take it's place." And he didn't know who he was anymore, or if who he was even mattered.

Cassandra shuffled a bit closer and sighed. "Well, I need you now, too. Not Robin, just Tim."

And hearing that... "Oh..." Tim wasn't sure what it meant, exactly, but it seemed to change something. He sat with Cassandra a bit longer, just quietly watching the people in the park playing around. They were happy now, but what would they go back to when they finally had to leave?

He turned to his companion, his friend. "Want to go skate some more?"

And she smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

Dick wasn't especially fond of the circumstances that got them here, but he had to admit that their time in the hospital wasn't all bad. Being surrounded at every turn by health care professionals took the edge off his helplessness and anxiety, especially as RJ seemed to have gotten through the first hurdle, and it was an immeasurable relief that his baby was no longer screaming at him constantly. He was surrounded by family and friends who were not currently fighting with him or each other, and as long as he stayed with RJ, they could only gang up on him one at a time.

It was nice to have a breather, even if he knew it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later he would do something to break the peace, or finally confess the truth to Bruce, and then the screaming would start up again. But for now, it was nice.

Barbara was with him, currently. She seemed to be focusing more on RJ so as not to actually talk to Dick, and that was fine with him. After their last conversation, things were a little awkward, with sensitive subjects just hanging in the air. Dick regretted ever saying anything, though he still had a case for plausible deniability, and he hoped Barbara would take the hint and let it all get buried and forgotten.

But no such luck, she seemed to be psyching herself up for something, and no matter how many times Dick tried to distract her with a harmless topic, he sensed the wave breaking. "You know, I really hate hospitals," Barbara finally tried, and it sounded like the opening line.

"Really? I don't mind them," Dick lied, rushing to block. "After fixing up Mr. Tummy Trouble here, I think they're my new favorite place. Yeah, RJ, we should say thanks to all the nice doctors and nurses, huh? They took such good care of you~" He knew Barbara still had nightmares about her spinal surgery, knew she didn't have a lot of great memories attached to these places, but he wasn't about to let that observation lead into-

"RJ's lucky to have you here. It would have been nice if my dad had been there more," Barbara continued, easily routing the conversation back. "He was recovering from his own injuries from Joker during a lot of my rougher surgeries."

"That sucks." More than Dick would ever know, probably. He'd been safely out of town when the Joker went on his Terrorize-the-Gordons campaign. But he couldn't think of anything to say to take control of the conversation, because he knew Barbara was gearing up to turn this all back around to him.

He never should have said anything. Secrets were supposed to stay secret. "Yeah. We don't really talk about what the Joker did to us. Both of us dealt with it separately." Alone, if Dick knew Barbara. She took her own problems along with everyone else's and made sense of it all. She didn't need help from anyone, but _provided_ help to everyone.

Why couldn't Dick be the same? Why was he falling to pieces over every little thing? "Sometimes it's hard to..." Oh, no, he was walking right into the trap! Dick clamped his mouth shut before sympathy incriminated him further.

"Hard to what?"

"I don't know," Dick fibbed, and locked his eyes on RJ. He had to keep the walls up, couldn't display weakness again. "Look, I'm sorry about bringing it up earlier, it wasn't my business."

"No, it's fine. We're friends," Barbara said, and Dick's heart felt like it was begin squeezed. After how they'd left things, he was lucky she would think that. He wasn't sure he deserved to be thought of so highly. "And it's nice to stop pretending you don't know. Well, not right _now,_ " she admitted after a second. "It'll feel nice later, right now it kind of sucks."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dick couldn't help but mutter, then almost smacked himself. He was terrible at this. Why couldn't he be like Bruce, cold and untouchable when his heart was under attack?

Of course, _Bruce_ would never be in this situation in the first place.

"I've been kind of selfish with this," Barbara mused, and Dick tried to make himself not care. "The chair is impossible to ignore, so I owned that, but everything else I can hide. I decided it was _my_ pain and _my_ tragedy, and I didn't have to share it with anyone else if I didn't want to. And I guess that was fine," she said after a pause, when it didn't look like Dick was going to respond, "But I never thought my friend might one day need something different, and I'd have nothing to offer."

This wasn't her responsibility. "Babs-"

"You're going to be a great dad, and RJ's going to grow up into a great person," she charged on, changing tracks. "But no matter how hard you try, you can't protect him from everything, Dick. And someday, he might need to talk to his dad about something very painful, or very personal." Dick gripped at the little table that housed RJ, suddenly feeling sick. "And I think you'll want to be able to contribute to that conversation. Because I'm finding out I can't get my shit together retroactively."

"I'm fine," Dick whispered, but it was a lie, and Barbara knew it. "There's nothing wrong, I'm fine, RJ is perfect, I'm..."

"Blockbuster put you through hell." Did she have to bring that up? "And I'm sure posing as a mob enforcer hasn't exactly been tiptoeing through the tulips."

"All part of the job."

"Sure, but you're not 'fine'. People have hurt you. _Catalina_ hurt you. It's okay to tell people you need help, and not just with the babysitting."

"I don't!" It was all Dick could do not to raise his voice. There were sick babies convalescing, after all, and a few parents keeping watchful vigils. He worried some of them might overhear their conversation, but then realized they were too absorbed in their own tragic nightmare to care. Some of their little babies might not recover, after all, what did they care about some other man's dumb mistakes? Dick wasn't the only one to know pain and suffering.

"I'm not really able to talk about how I felt back then, at least not now," Barbara was saying, but Dick could barely hear her above the pounding of his heart. "But I know a lot of people you could talk to. Discrete, some of them wear masks themselves. And you have legal options, too. You don't have to do this by yourself."

"Babs, just stop." Dick took a breath, trying to center himself before he fell over. She didn't know the full story, the whole situation. She only knew one small piece of Dick's damnation jigsaw puzzle, and when you put it all together, those options all dried up. But even if it was just the one small thing... "You've got it all wrong. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but I'm-"

"Don't back-pedal, Boy Wonder!" she shot at him. "You can't just deny it and make it go away. It's always going to be a thing that happened, and if you can't deal with it, it's going to be the _defining thing_ about you." No, that would be the moment where he just stepped away and let another man die. "You're not alone, Dick. I know it might be difficult to talk about, but you have friends, family, there's plenty of resources available to you-"

"Fine. Fine!" Dick whispered back, conceding a little ground. "But how could I play that card, Babs, when Sue Dibny had it so much worse?" That shut her up for a second. "And Starfire? And... well, it's not like life was a real picnic for you, after..." He swallowed. "This happens all the time and women take so much shit for it! I'm not going to pull everyone's attention from the real issues, not when you have to fight so hard as it is..."

Barbara regarded him coldly. He turned back to RJ, and after a heavy silence, heard her voice behind him. "Okay, I see how we got here. I'm sorry, Dick."

"What? What are you sorry for?"

"Because you think if people support you, it makes what I went through somehow less. Or Kori, or however many number of people. Because we didn't get a lot of help or understanding when we needed it." She shook her head. "Of _course_ you think that, people pull that move _all_ the time. I've been doing it all day; I thought being excited about your son took away from my pain at not being able to have one. I thought feeling sympathy for whatever weird situation you had with RJ's mom took away from the pain of our breakup. If I have to care and bolster other people, it takes away from the energy I have to care about myself, I do that _all_ the time."

"Look, I have friends who went through violent attacks they didn't ask for," Dick tried to argue over her, "Hundreds of innocent people have suffered. So what right do I have to get all whiny? When I-"

"What?" Barbara hissed, and Dick was reminded why he'd never won an argument with her, ever. "You need to suffer a certain _amount_ before you get to ask for help? Or are you going to try to tell me you asked for it?" There was probably a case to be made for that. He certainly hadn't stopped it. "The fact that you knew Catalina makes it less reprehensible, or because you're a man it somehow makes the score even?"

"I'm not innocent." She hadn't expected that answer. "Babs, there's a lot you don't understand. I shouldn't have ever brought it up, I was just being stupid." He swallowed and tried to control the sudden trembling that had taken over his shoulders. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Ever."

"Dick-"

"No. I screwed up, and then I tried to put it on you, but I'm old enough to clean up my own messes." Dick insisted. Was he crying? It felt like he was, his nose, eyes and throat were suddenly full of water. "It's my issue to deal with, and I'll do it by myself-"

"But-"

"So RJ _never_ has to know about this!" That was the most important thing. Finding out his father was a coward, a hypocrite, a criminal, that would be rough.

But finding out that he didn't exist because of an act of love, but a crime? That his creation was a source of pain to other people? That was too large a burden for any child to bear.

He bent down to view RJ through the small hole in the isolation box. "That's right, my perfect cutie. Nothing's wrong with you. Daddy's a dum-dum sometimes, but he's fine and he loves you so much! Yeah, scrunchy-face, he loves you lots and lots!" He kept up the dialogue until his emotions were under control again, but felt Barbara behind him, boring holes into his back with her eyes.

Eventually, she turned her wheelchair towards the door, but she stopped just at his elbow. "Sometimes I don't have it in me to deal with all my crap and someone else's. And sometimes our whole circle gets hit with that at the same time."

"I said I was sorry."

"Idiot, I'm not done. There are people suffering through horrible things all alone, and maybe they even have it worse than you. But that doesn't make you less important. It doesn't make what happened to you acceptable."

"And I said I didn't want to talk about this anymore."

"Well, too bad, because I'm always going to be here. I'm going to ask how you're doing and make you tell the truth and give you unsolicited advice during all the bad parts. Part of that means poking you until you get your angst off your chest. It's what I've always done, Former Wonder, so don't act so surprised now."

"I can't tell if you're my best friend or my worst friend."

"Speaking of, where _are_ your other friends? RJ's made it through the first scary nightmare. Isn't it time to announce the happy news to them?"

Dick thought about that for a moment, mentally scrolled through his list of friends and filtered out the ones that were no longer alive, the ones crushed under the weight of their own drama, the ones no longer speaking to him... And of the remainder, he'd had little contact with any of them in the past few months. His world shrank to a very small space, and they'd probably given up on him, as they'd be right to. It was selfish to call them up after so long just because he was having a problem, or to pull them from their own emergencies so he could rub happy news in their faces.

In the end, he didn't answer Barbara, and she sighed. "You saw the details of the Joker case. Saw the pictures, I'm assuming. It really didn't change anything you felt for me?"

"No." How did other people's crimes make Barbara less of a person? "I've always loved you, nothing changed that," he whispered, mostly to himself, but he knew Barbara overheard.

There was a smile in her voice. "This doesn't change anything for me, either." She patted his arm. "Think about that. I'll give you a minute to get those manly tears under control." And with one last wave to RJ, she wheeled out of the room.

* * *

Dick wasn't sure just how long he'd spent with his head in his hands and weeping, but he wasn't finished by the time Jason showed up.

"Hey." The younger boy slunk in like a ninja, and Dick hurriedly wiped his face and jumped up from the chair he'd pulled over.

"Hey." The two stood waited while Dick tried to get himself under control, but that ended up being a futile effort. Everything was so wrong and everyone could see it, and that revelation was happening all the quicker because Dick couldn't stop _telling_ people. "How are you?"

"Fine," Jason shrugged, and like Barbara, seemed to be psyching himself up for something. But his tactics had always differed, and Dick didn't expect Jason to launch into some story that would eventually cycle back around to the point. No, Jason was more direct, and he would say whatever he felt he needed to say.

Or so Dick thought. Then Jason came back from the dead, and he was the equivalent of a teenager crashing his dad's car in a desperate plea for attention. Either way, Dick wasn't going to get any more composed, so he decided to get this over with. "What do you want, Jay?"

He expected a question about Bruce, or Tim. Maybe Jason would demand the full story on some detail he'd heard out in the waiting room. Maybe he could sense that Dick was not the perfect, golden child he'd always thought, and wanted to know why he'd looked up to him for so long.

But he wasn't expecting Jason to sidle up to him, briefly pull open his jacket to reveal a glimpse of the gun he was hiding, and somberly say, "Do you need me to kill someone for you?"

"What? Jason, are you-?"

"Just calm down, Dick-head," Jason growled. "Not looking to piss off security again. Just..." he sighed, and fixed Dick with a look he didn't like. "You've been saying stuff, and I can see... signs..." He looked very uncomfortable, but perhaps not as much as Dick. "So just tell me. Give me the names of the people who hurt you, and I'll go put them down. By tomorrow, it'll all go away."

"No, Jason." It wouldn't solve everything. And Dick knew that, because he'd already tried letting someone do his dirty work for him. He'd whored out his integrity, so was he really surprised that Catalina treated him like anything else? "Don't do that. Please."

"Why not? Someone has to do something!" Jason crossed his arms and glared. "You embarrassed? I'm not asking for details, just a name." When Dick didn't answer, he stomped his foot and the glare darkened. "Remember where I grew up? There are people out there who prey on the desperate, and people who just take what they want no matter who it hurts." Dick could have pointed out that revenge shooting fell under that latter category, but this didn't seem like the time. "Some people hurt others so personally, so _permanently_ , that they don't deserve to live. All I need is a name, Dick, and one of them never hurts anybody again."

It was a little tempting. And karma might find it poetic. But in the end, Dick shook his head. "Already in jail, Jay."

"Oh yeah? And how long will they stay there before they're back on the streets and doing things to someone else?" He had a point, but Dick liked to think Catalina had learned something from their tumultuous experience. Maybe she'd rethink her brand of justice, and maybe wouldn't just take it for granted that her touch was welcome with the next vulnerable person she came across. Or maybe not, it wasn't like Dick ever spelled that last one out for her. But still, in his heart of hearts, Dick didn't believe Tarantula actually meant to hurt him. Yes, she treated him like an object and used him like a toy, and yes, she treated his feelings, soul and protests like they were worthless, but he still thought her goal had been to make him feel good.

And maybe also exert power or prove her point or any number of things. There was no way to spin it to make her innocent of a crime, but Dick didn't think she deserved to die. And Dick wasn't innocent enough to truly be called a victim. "Come on, you don't have to tell me all the crazy details of your life, just tell me who deserves to get a bullet through their head!"

"Me." That sent Jason into shocked silence.

But only for a second. "You suck at this!" When Dick gave him a bemused glance, Jason went into a small tirade. "I'm supposed to reach out or whatever, _you're_ supposed to have an epiphany and then things start getting good again, that's the pattern!" He looked so angry and confused, it made Dick want to laugh in spite of everything. "Replacement came up and said something pithy about Robins, I had this revelation or _something_ and now I'm here in the last place I _ever_ wanted to be, and he thinks I'm supposed to be able to _do_ something, but this is all I got, Dick-head! I don't know what you people _want_!"

"I forgot how cute you were," Dick grinned in response, and Jason bristled at being called cute. But the sight stirred up old memories, the precious few where he and Jason weren't fighting. Jason would go on these long rants about seemingly pointless things, from video games to whether or not Alfred bought the right kind of peanut butter at the store, and his view of the world had always been so black and white, good or bad. Childlike, and he seemed almost comically betrayed any time things didn't fit his preconceived notions, even if the end result turned out favorably for him. In fact, Dick suspected Alfred purposefully shook up Jason's worldviews and expectations for entertainment value. It was the only reason he could think of for the sudden frequency of the Wayne household to eat snails, frogs and octopus.

Jason still appeared peeved that Dick wasn't following whatever conversational script he expected to be having, but the boy just grumbled to himself for a few seconds before adopting a softer tone. "You don't really... you're not gonna shoot yourself, are you?"

An interesting question. A lot of Dick's behavior in the past would suggest that, and an ache in his leg reminded him a recent occasion where his effort to avoid bullets might not have been as convicted as it could be. Dick wasn't sure, and didn't ever think about it too hard, but he knew that if he happened to die on the job, it wouldn't be a _bad_ thing.

"No," he said after a pause, looking down at RJ. "Too many people need me." And if this baby hadn't come into his life, what then? Would he have latched on one mission to the next, forever limping along until he was finally put out of his misery? Or would he have taken decisive action on his situation? It was hard to know, without delving deep into how Dick really felt about his life, and that was territory too dark to handle right now. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"Well... good," Jason fidgeted. "'Cause I'd feel bad if you were dead." That was something Dick hadn't expected to hear from Jason, ever. "I'd probably even go to your funeral and, like... cry, or start a fight, or something..." Jason would go to his funeral, even now, with the Red Hood identity and feud with Bruce... "And I still mostly hate your guts, so just imagine how all the people who love you are gonna feel?"

Dick couldn't imagine it. He really couldn't. But Jason was real, and he was right here being the same little brat he'd always been, and never once thought Dick was anything special. Jason's expectations of him had always been dismal, and Dick couldn't be more resented or sink any lower in his eyes. But Jason would cry at his funeral, and maybe Dick was still too emotional from his conversation with Barbara, but that meant something.

He turned and wrapped his arms around Jason. "I'm glad you're alive." Jason froze, and Dick felt a little paralyzed himself. When did little Jason Todd get so tall? And when did the two of them go around saying nice things and hugging each other? But it was nice, it was warm, even if Jason stayed stiff and still like an ironing board through the whole thing.

He probably should have mentioned that he never got to go to Jason's own funeral, that he didn't even hear the news of the death until months later, but Dick's guilty conscience might not have mattered. Jason probably never assumed Dick would _want_ to go, but had given his own words of compassion regardless. And while there was no telling how he'd react to the news about Blockbuster, Dick couldn't see Jason condemning him in the same way the others would. Jason probably wouldn't think it such a crime, and while that wasn't something to be happy about, it gave him hope that maybe they could still have this connection between them when the world fell apart.

The universe gave them back Jason, in all his contradictory, wonderful glory, and made him Dick's brother. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't stand to lose everything he valued.

Jason finally moved, to give Dick an awkward pat on the back. "You see, _now_ you're starting to get with the program. This is more how that feeling stuff was supposed to go."

And Dick just laughed.


	12. Chapter 12

RJ was running a small fever. Dick was doing his best not to freak out. After all, babies frequently got temperatures, and that was an easy enough thing to take care of, more so since they were already in the hospital. And it didn't necessarily herald anything dramatic. RJ could have a bit of flu, he could be stressed and exhausted, or a minor infection. All this was told to Dick by the medical staff, but there was an unspoken understanding that RJ had just been carved open like a Thanksgiving turkey, and no one really expected it to be anything but an infection related to the surgery. One could hope, but the real question was what other complications would surface and would they be able to catch and treat them before they got out of hand.

Everyone was doing their best, and RJ didn't appear more miserable than usual, so Dick tried to keep a grip on his panic. "Want to give me a smile, little guy?" RJ blinked a few times and pushed his tongue out between his lips, blowing a little spit as he did so. "Close enough. You must be so bored. We've got to get this box a mobile or something." He wondered if the doctors would mind, or if it would be too distracting with all the other equipment. "You could just sleep through it, I guess. I'm told babies are supposed to nap a lot, not like you've been much proof of that so far. But you've got to catch up sometime, right?" When RJ didn't move, Dick sighed. "Let me guess, you'll take after Bruce. Sleeping three hours a night and giving me the stink eye when I try to put you to bed. That's fine, I can deal, long as you don't go sneaking out the window at three AM and leave me wondering whether or not you'll come back in one piece."

RJ turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, but his tongue was still sticking out. Dick couldn't help but laugh at the picture. "Actually, it's better for me if you're awake. When you're asleep, I don't know if you're okay. And you gave me a pretty big scare, earlier." He smiled, and pulled up a chair so that his face was right next to the hole in the isolation box. "I'm still a little scared, to be honest. You're one very sick baby. But I guess you already knew that." Dick took a breath. "I'm pretty sick, too. It's just harder for people to see." _Poison._ And it was probably spreading. "Well, I think they're starting to see, now..."

And the reactions trickling in were strange. For starters, Jason didn't want him dead. And while Dick never expected Barbara to wrap him in warm arms over this, she didn't treat him like a thing diseased, either. Tim probably didn't know all of Dick's involvement with Blockbuster, but he did know about the Tevis family, and probably deduced a thing or two about Deathstroke and Ravager. Yet, he said he wasn't afraid to learn Dick had a dark side.

"I joined the _mob_ , baby. What was I thinking?" He laughed a little to himself, mostly to relieve tension, but he wasn't sure if his idiocy was in going down the dark path or in thinking he could ever come back. "So there's this old parable, about a son who runs off and screws up his whole life. Like, _really,_ falls in with the wrong crowd, wastes all his inheritance, makes a general idiot of himself and ends up as a slave, basically, so hungry he'd eat the slop he's feeding to the pigs." And even if the passage didn't say so in great detail, there had to be some moral compromises on the way to hitting such a low point.

"And the story says that one day he "came to himself," and realized the servants back at his dad's place ate good meals and had a roof over their heads. So he headed home to be his dad's servant." The rest of the story detail how the father watched for his son every day, saw him coming from a great distance and ran forward to embrace him. Dick wasn't expecting that much, not from Bruce. But still... "Sometimes I wonder if that only works for real families. And I don't think Bruce needs any more hired hands." His eyes started to water. "But I give anything to go home again..."

"Last I checked, the front door works just fine. But I hear you, it costs an arm and a leg to get a cab out to Crest Hill."

Dick looked up and saw Tim and Cassandra entering the NICU. "Welcome back. How was the world outside?"

"Full of fresh air." Tim clapped a hand on Dick's shoulder, and Cassandra came around the other side. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, I guess." Then, the three of them slipped into silence. Dick stayed in his chair, while the two teens stood slightly behind him, and eventually the quiet became oppressive. He wasn't in the mood for anyone else to try to shrink him or give helpful advice, not after running a gauntlet between Jason, Barbara and Bruce. So he shrugged Tim's hand off his shoulder and refused any attempts at conversation.

Of course, Cassandra didn't need words to communicate. "Stop analyzing me."

"I'm not." Yeah, right. But it's not like he could stop her. Dick resigned himself to whatever clues his body language was giving away, and eventually, Cassandra opened her mouth again. "Babies are hard to read. They can't move much." She gestured to RJ, who had squirmed a little in the past few minutes, but still had his eyes scrunched closed and his tongue out. "Their emotions are simple." She shrugged. "Different from us."

"So, more complex is easier for you to read?" Tim sounded incredulous.

"More complex means more info," Cassandra replied. "Babies don't hide, but not much to see. I like this... don't like this... this hurts..." She trailed off, and Dick thought about that. While a baby was essentially powerless and blind to the workings of their environment, there was something envious about a life so simple. The life of an adult was full of compromises and decisions that brought heavy weights to settle on one's soul.

Cassandra broke into his thoughts with a confused, "How do babies breathe? Before they're born?"

"In the womb?" Dick was about to give an answer, then realized he wasn't sure. "Maybe they don't? Or aren't they surrounded by that balloon membrane thing?" He sounded like he was in fifth grade health class again. A father of a newborn, and he still didn't know a darned thing about them.

"I think they don't," said Tim, who was the only one of the three who'd ever had experience with pre-natal anything. "Isn't that why the doctor slaps the kid when it's born? To get it to breathe?"

"The doctor hits the babies?" Cassandra sounded like she didn't approve.

"That's how it happens in the movies, anyway. Just a little touch, we're not talking Bat-training."

"No wonder babies cry," Cassandra muttered. "Sounds like 'Two for Flinching'."

"Huh?" Dick asked, and Tim looked uncomfortable.

"It's a... game she used to play with Cain..."

"Look! He has fingernails!" Cassandra leaned forward, effectively changing the subject. "Tiny fingernails..." Her voice radiated awe, the same awe Dick felt about once a minute. So tiny, yet so detailed, a perfect body in miniature form. Well, almost perfect, if not for the cancer... "Bruce used to be this size."

Tim laughed aloud at the observation. "Oh, man, can you imagine him as a baby? I wish we had pictures!"

"We do," Dick grinned. He'd explored a lot of photo albums during his years at the manor. "And he was a _fat_ little baby. Built like a pit bull." Both Tim and Cassandra nearly fell over at the mental image.

"I can just picture it! I bet he came out scowling!"

"Sure looked like it." In some of the earlier shots, anyway. The pictures of Bruce as a toddler were smiling. And then of course, he was back to scowling by eight years old.

Tim wiped his eye. "Can you imagine him as a baby? 'Excuse me Alfred, but this baby food isn't mashed enough, I want to send it back'."

"Drinks bottles like this," Cassandra mimed swirling a bottle of baby formula like a wine glass. Dick tried so hard not to laugh.

But it was no use. He slid out of his chair in a fit of laughter, while Tim and Cassandra traded more jokes. "I am vengeance, I am the night, I strike fear into the hearts of criminals... when my diaper's full."

Cass giggled. "Baby bat glare."

"I bet he hid lockpicks in his baby bonnet so he could break out of his crib!" By this point, Dick was completely on the floor, and earning more than a few odd looks from the other occupants in the room. But even as he wheezed and gasped for breath, he felt the smile on his face stretching to all corners. Even Tim and Cass laughed and teased and ribbed like family. Robin and Batgirl found time after the mission to form friendships and crack wise, and even without legal ties, Bruce would always look after them. They were always part of the circle. Taken care of, happy, and together, not isolated and rotting from the inside out, too blind to even see it happening.

Even Batman's junior partners had a pretty sweet deal, all things considered. Bruce wasn't going to be killing a fatted calf over the prodigal son, but all his servants, minions and partners lived well. The house was warm, bright, and there was laughter. More than ever before, Dick's heart ached to go home, and not just to Wayne Manor.

"Hey, RJ," he said from the floor, in a voice that barely carried above the giggle-fest. "I think I just came to myself."

"You what?" Apparently, Tim had overheard, and he pulled a strange face. "That's um... more information than I needed to know."

"You're sick," Cassandra supplied, and Dick laughed again.

"And how..." He reached up and Cassandra pulled him to his feet. "Yeah, it did sound creepy. I just meant..." He suddenly couldn't meet their faces and looked away, focusing instead on RJ, who was lazily opening his eyes again. "I want to go home." Even if he wasn't worthy to be Nightwing or the Wayne heir, even if Bruce didn't want him in the physical _house_ , Tim and Cass didn't have any of that, and they still had joy, laughter and security in spades. Dick could hang his head and swallow his pride, if he could just get close to the light that radiated from all of them. "I'm ready to go home."

Tim smiled, mirrored by Cassandra. "Well, like I said, the front door still works." Dick was thinking more along the lines of the servant's entrance, but the acceptance from the two of them was reassuring, nonetheless. Eventually though, the mood grew nervous and awkward again, and Dick was afraid that they would start grilling him, trying to goad him into another emotionally charged conversation. He was done with revealing secrets.

But Cassandra either wasn't interested, or sensed it wouldn't be welcome and changed the subject. She bent down over RJ's box, pulled on her ears, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Though RJ's eyes focused on her, his expression didn't change much, but Tim and Dick nearly busted a gut.

"Who is the crazy girl making faces, RJ?" Dick chuckled. "Is she funny? Do you think she's funny?"

"I am funny," Cassandra declared, and proceeded to squish up her face like a fish. "Blub, blub..."

"So... I think we know who your babysitter is going to be," Tim said with a grin. "Until he gets to the age where he wants bedtime stories."

"Be good by then," Cass said around puckered lips, as her fish-face "swam" closer to RJ.

"Sure, okay. You can teach him to read, I'll teach him tech stuff, Dick will teach him circus tricks," Tim listed off, then his face lit up. "You know, you really need to give him piano lessons!"

"Piano? Why?" Dick was confused, but Tim's face was so serious.

"So we can call him Little Richard." It took a moment, but then Dick was back on the floor again, his laughter unable to be contained.

He should have gone home months ago.


	13. Chapter 13

There was a social worker assigned to the Grayons, though that name also encapsulated the non-related members of their circle. He was a round man, short, brown and bald, and reminded Cassandra of a Buddah with glasses. His demeanor followed his appearance, and Cassandra appreciated his easy optimism. He reminded her of Dick, and she could see the two men hit it off well, despite the stressful circumstances. Even so, Cassandra could also see that Dick wasn't going to open up to a stranger about some of the deeper things plaguing him.

Which was a shame, since this social worker, Mr. Carson, had said he was there to provide support and counsel throughout RJ's treatment, and he was available to all members of the family. Unsurprisingly, no one had taken him up on that, but Cassandra did have an irrational hope that this stranger would see that Dick needed help and force some on him. Then again, as the saying went, you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make him drink. Dick had a counselor literally within arm's reach, and wouldn't breathe a word of the inner turmoil coloring every movement he made.

That's not to say Dick took no advantage of the service offered. He could sometimes be pried away from RJ's side to discuss procedures and facilities for after his son was discharged. With Carson's help, Dick was able to go over the mountain of medical information thrown at him and make plans for the second stage of treatment. Last Cassandra heard, there was a children's cancer center in Metropolis that had a lot of experience treating infants, and Dick had chosen that facility over another highly recommended facility in Gotham.

His reasons were his own, and Cassandra hadn't been privy the discussion, but Bruce was furious. He insisted that the Gotham facility was better, and raged that any doctors or specialists that didn't already work there could be hired and brought in, but Cassandra suspected he was just jealous that he wasn't included. The more Dick spoke with Carson, the more Bruce's hackles got raised, and it wasn't long before the situation grew tense.

"I've seen toddlers less sulky," Tim groaned. He and Cassandra were in the waiting room, watching Bruce fail to conceal his unhappiness. "Think we need to enforce that fifteen-minute rule?"

"Not sure," Cassandra replied. She kept her eyes on Bruce, monitoring his levels of agitation. He wasn't at his boiling point, yet, but he was past the point where he would contribute anything positive. It didn't help that all visitors had been ushered away from RJ about thirty minutes ago, including the father, for a swarm of medical professionals to surround the baby. Naturally, Bruce began looking for ways to control the situation, either through eliminating RJ's sickness or his own ability to be hurt by it. He was seconds away from threatening to sue the hospital when Alfred said he'd step on his charge's injured foot if he didn't get some peace and quiet.

So now Bruce sat in a plastic chair and grumbled at the world, and with his employer reduced from red alert to yellow, Alfred went off to check on Jason, unwilling to let him disappear completely on the fringes. Barbara dealt with her tension by typing furiously on her laptop and insisting she was working on some world-level threat. But the movement of her fingers told Cassandra that Barbara was just keysmashing most of the time. Not that she would call the woman on it.

As for Cassandra, she was learning far more by just sitting quietly and paying attention. For example, she saw a tense efficiency to the doctors and nurses attending RJ, but no traces of panic. They took swift, deliberate actions and spoke without levity in their expressions, but their body language didn't indicate that they were delivering devastating news, nor did Dick act like he was receiving any. Not _desirable_ news, perhaps, but not yet crisis level.

When she last saw RJ, she had noticed that the baby was taking shallow breaths. It hurt him to breathe deeply, something that wasn't surprising given the nature of his surgery. She'd mentioned that to one of the nurses, afraid to bring it up with Dick when he was finally smiling for more than two seconds at a time, but it turned out they were already aware. In fact, Cassandra suspected that the only reason the nurse didn't get offended was because her speech was too simplistic to sound patronizing. But RJ's behavior was common after surgery, and many patients built up mucus in their lungs due to the shallow breathing, leading to infections. Cassandra was assured that they were doing everything they could to prevent that from happening.

Watching everybody now, she was beginning to suspect that an infection had developed, despite best efforts. But while everyone moved with urgency, their behavior was worlds away from the movements and expressions exhibited when the baby was first brought in. From this, Cassandra surmised that the hospital staff had the situation under control, and pestering them or throwing a fit would only compromise that.

"Bruce needs a distraction. Or babysitter," Cassandra muttered, and Tim nodded.

"I have an idea for that. It might even get him to open up a little." Now _that_ was some idea. "I could use a distraction myself."

Tim appeared calm on the surface, but Cassandra could see he was just as unsettled as everyone else in the room. Not surprising, considering how many times he'd been in the hospital with a loved one, and how many times he'd lost someone he cared about. And even with a doctor they knew and trusted, Stephanie had still passed away. But as always, he kept the bulk of his feelings to himself, while his movements were practically screaming. "At least Dick's more... stable." Less likely to throw himself off the roof. That seemed like a real possibility for a few hours. The depth of Dick's self-hatred was staggering, and Cassandra wished Bruce could see things the way she did. It wasn't healthy for Dick to base his own worth on Bruce's opinion, but since that behavior wouldn't be unlearned overnight, his adopted father's explicit approval was going to be essential to helping their friend.

On the other side of the room, Dick was approaching Bruce. His posture was hunched and tense, and his hands were clenched up inside his pockets. But his eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open, allowing for deep breaths when he wasn't nervously swallowing. "He said he wants to go home," Tim said, breaking into her observations. "I mean, he's back with us, so he already is home, but that's a good sign, right?"

Dick sat down beside Bruce, who acknowledged the presence with a grunt. Cassandra watched Dick wipe his palms on his jeans, gathering courage. He was about to risk being vulnerable, he was going to ask a question. "He didn't want to talk. Now he does." That was good. Across the room, Dick posed his question to Bruce, but they were too far away to be overheard.

Not that one needed audio for Bruce's response. It was quick and preoccupied, completely unaware of the effort it had taken to ask, and Cassandra suspected, of the real meaning behind the asking. Dick spoke again, now a statement. His carriage was a bit more timid this time, as if testing how his information was received. A second attempt prompted a long discourse from Bruce, mostly clinical and detached, but with a small bit of that childlike disgruntlement seeping through. The more Bruce talked, the more Dick pulled away. A minuscule amount, but it was telling: he was no longer open and turned towards his mentor, even if they were sitting side by side.

"He wants to talk. But won't," Cassandra sighed. "He doesn't feel safe."

Tim frowned. "Why not? We're his friends, why can't he talk to us?"

"We're kids." Hardly normal ones, but it was true. "He wants a dad." A brand new father didn't turn to children for advice or support, but to wiser and more experienced adults. And whatever hurts had been inflicted on Dick's soul were serious enough to send him into the arms of a parent, the person charged with protecting him and making him feel loved. The person who gave advice and guidance whether the child asked for it or not. "Maybe we can help. Or a doctor. But he wants Bruce now. That has to be first."

"Yeah, and that means Bruce needs to be sensitive and empathetic for more than half an hour at a time." Tim groaned. "When I first became Robin, I thought all he needed was a partner to anchor him. But now..."

"What?"

"I don't know. That one Bible quote of yours might have it right." _First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye._

"Bruce... is blind?"

Tim nodded. "How's he going to know how to help Dick, when he's got a beam of wood blocking his view?"

Cassandra saw the logic, and grimaced. "Not a beam. It's a whole building."

* * *

It's not that Dick really expected much from Bruce. Years of experience had taught him not to get his hopes up in that arena. Sometimes Bruce would surprise him, and be so gentle and understanding about whatever Dick approached him with, but it was more often that Dick met with a wall of cold, black Kevlar. It was a little different when Dick was young, back when all he needed was a pair of warm arms to get him through. His problems were more complicated now, more weighty, and he was far less innocent than he'd been all those years ago. But what Bruce didn't understand was that a hug would go just as far with an adult as with a little kid.

And right now, Dick didn't need someone to fix his problems. Some of them were his burden to carry, and others were already being handled by the hospital or law enforcement. He didn't necessarily deserved to be rescued from some of the things plaguing him, others were beyond anyone's control, but most were simply not important at the moment. He just wanted to know he still had a place in Bruce's life.

It didn't need to be much, Dick already expected to be disowned to some degree. It was fine if Bruce cut him out of the will, took away his costume, even banned him from the manor, but Dick needed something to hold on to. He didn't care how small it was, so long as he could stay somewhere in Batman's orbit. Bruce had been surprisingly kind, if a little contradictory, and all their other friends seemed to genuinely want Dick around, so while he worried that the tide could shift at any minute, he dared to believe things might work out. If he was lucky, Bruce might still be feeling that fatherly desire to offer comfort with no lectures or strings.

So, with a great gathering of courage, he approached Bruce to talk. And it was good Dick wasn't expecting much, because nothing of substance came from that. Bruce was in a _mood_ , and as usual, wanted people to obey his orders or leave him alone. It probably wasn't the right time for a discussion beginning with, "Hey, remember when you taught me all life has value and we dish out justice instead of vengeance? Yeah, I decided to go and do the opposite of that. Is it cool if my bastard son and I crash at your mansion for a while?"

A few years ago, Dick might have been offended by Bruce's petulant tone, or hurt by the borderline dismissive behavior. Now, he deserved whatever Bruce chose to say to him, or not to say. He knew his mentor was feeling stressed out by the situation, knew that Dick himself had caused the scenario where all of Bruce's adult and childhood fears could re-spawn, so he sat calmly next to the other man and endured the silence, punctuated by the occasional complaint. Bruce was, miraculously, not lashing out at _him_ , and Dick had no desire to rock that boat.

But he drew the line when Bruce started criticizing Mr. Carson. "He's not such a bad guy, you know."

"He's incompetent," Bruce snorted, tapping his foot on the tile. His eyes were burning into a small plaque on the wall detailing a donation from the Wayne Foundation, probably wondering why it wasn't giving them any magic karma now. "And superfluous. Not to mention, social workers have never done you any favors." Dick tried to keep his blood from boiling. There were a lot of bad memories, and a few grudges, but Bruce had no idea... "We need doctors, not quack counselors right now."

" _RJ_ needs doctors, and he has them," Dick pointed out, trying to keep his voice reasonable. He didn't want a repeat of Bruce calling up every cancer specialist in the country and trying to fly them into Gotham, despite the fact that cancer wasn't even the evil they were currently treating. "Gotham has some of the best pediatricians and practices in the world, and it's a relatively slow night, otherwise. Nothing is getting in the way of his care. But _I_ need someone to help me decide if I want to make my kid miserable with a bunch of six month chemo cycles, or make him _super_ miserable for a shorter time with smaller cycles, or take a chance on a newer procedure with less chemicals." Dick said with a little more edge. "And I need someone who has answers every time I have a question, or can find me resources I didn't even know were available. And someone to tell me it's totally normal to get sick all over the floor when talking about central intravenous catheters, and that sticking all this poison and sharp stuff in a baby doesn't make me the guy from 'Saw.' That's Carson."

And it made Bruce so jealous. Dick could see that, and maybe, not so long ago, it would have made him happy. He would have loved to know that Bruce wanted to be the one supporting him, that his mentor would do everything short of kicking down a hospital for him, or that Bruce actually wanted Dick's attention. The idea of Bruce welcoming Dick's pleas or questions as more than an excuse to say 'I told you so' had rarely been more than a fantasy.

But right now... "It's nothing your family isn't capable of doing."

"Oh, really?" Dick felt his voice dripping with disdain, and felt bad about that. He hated Bruce's stubbornness, but it was ungrateful of him to discredit everyone's efforts to support him. They didn't have to go so far, and Dick hadn't expected them to. Especially since they might regret it later. He forced an apologetic grimace. "It's his job to hold our hands and walk us through this. So why burn ourselves out when we don't have to?" A bit hypocritical, since sleeping and eating were still things Dick had to be reminded and even prodded to do. But at least he was trying.

Bruce, though, the man had a comfort zone, and wild horses couldn't drag him out of it. "I don't like things being out of my control."

"Well, thanks for finally admitting that, but I don't really care how you feel." Maybe Bruce wasn't the only one in a bad mood. "RJ has pneumonia. So you can swallow your control issues or take them somewhere else, because I'm not risking you driving out the people who are supposed to be helping us." That ended up sounding a lot more bitter than Dick had any right to be, considering how much Bruce had done for him, and continued to do. He wondered if maybe he was a little bitter, and if so, was it because Bruce failed him in some way, or because he failed to earn everything he'd foolishly thought he deserved?

"Pneumonia?" The looked of horror on Bruce's face only rankled Dick more.

"Yes, pneumonia, I just told you ten minutes ago!" he snapped. "Do you listen to me when I talk, or do we all sound like insects to you?" That fear in Bruce was immediately replaced by hurt, and unlike the satisfaction he used to get out of that as a teen, Dick now felt like he was stabbing himself in the chest with those words. "Sorry, I'm just... yeah. His fever's not going down, and now he's got a cough and a lung infection going. Kid can't stay healthy for two seconds, I think he's trying to give me an ulcer." He tried to smile, but Bruce didn't return the gesture.

Instead, he began to glower. "How did this happen?" the man demanded with all the authority of his alter ego. Dick was a little surprised he didn't slip into the voice. "Can't these people do their jobs properly? I thought they were monitoring him!"

"Calm down, Bruce."

"No, I will not!" And Bruce got to his feet with purpose. "This is supposed to be one of the best facilities in the country! How do they just sit back and let my baby get pneumonia? I'm going to go and tell that-"

"He's not your baby!" Dick shot, rising to his feet as well. "And neither am I! So shut up!"

And Bruce did.

Dick's throat was suddenly dry. "He's not... and I... we're not yours. Not that way..."

"Dick, I..."

"You don't even know the first thing..." Dick trailed off helplessly, then gave a broken sigh. "Sure, I hate the social worker who stuck me juvie and then lost my file, that whole thing sucked. But the one who harassed us the better part of a year after I got caught lying about broken bones and going to school doped out on painkillers? Him, I love. He probably saved my life."

"What do you mean?" Bruce hadn't ever known, hadn't ever asked and probably hadn't really listened at the time. It had been a huge hassle, nearly compromising their identities as Batman and Robin, but the social worker's dogged persistence provided Dick with a way to say he was overwhelmed. At school, at home, in high society, in his own skin. The mask of perfection had finally fallen, and he let it go in order to cover up for Robin.

He said he hid injuries from Bruce in order to not be a bother, admitted to being afraid that if he caused too much trouble, if he let his grades drop, if he was anything less than a model, adjusted teen, Child Protective Services would find him another home. He didn't want to be taken away from his new family, he didn't want to disappoint his new family, they were all believable lies. To go to such extremes worried the caseworkers, but Bruce was such a loving and concerned parent in public that no one thought he _encouraged_ that behavior.

His social worker forced Dick to talk, and gave him an excuse to be less than perfect. Sometimes he could let his grades falter a little. He could let himself be seen as miserable or unhappy, and then have someone try to cheer him up. Sometimes, he could even take a day off of school when recovering from a night of beating up goons and have a plausible reason for staying home. Bruce found it all an annoyance, but did admit it made it easier for both of them to excuse certain aspects of their night lives, simply by admitting they weren't the flawless family they'd tried to present themselves as.

But it seemed Bruce never suspected how little of a cover it actually was, or that one of Dick's biggest fears was that he wouldn't be good enough for Batman, or Bruce. That Bruce would regret ever pulling him up off the circus floor...

"You don't know what I've needed or what I've done..." Dick continued, trying to find words for his anger, sorrow and turmoil. "But you keep thinking you can just take over my life..."

"Dick, I'm trying to help you," Bruce said, obviously confused, but also a little upset that his help was not being received with gratitude. He always got like that. "This isn't easy for anybody, and you've been through a lot. I can tell you're not in a good place right now, and I'm worried about you."

"You think I make terrible decisions, I heard you earlier," Dick retorted. "You think I can't take care of my own kid."

"I don't." Well, that hurt, not like Dick didn't expect it. "Not by yourself, at least. I'm trying to do what's best for both of you," Bruce amended, and his voice was both stern and pleading. Dick closed his eyes and wanted to just give in, just throw his pride away and do whatever Bruce said.

But he couldn't, not on this one issue. "Well, you're right. Because I'm the one who decided to give RJ this operation. I knew it was risky, and that there would be complications, everyone told me in explicit detail all the ways this could go wrong, and I told them to go ahead and do it anyway. It was my decision to put my baby under the knife when he's not even a month old, when that scalpel is about as long as his leg."

Dick turned his head to the floor, feeling queasy at the green look on Bruce's face. "We didn't have to have it so soon. I'm not sure how much longer we could have left it, but they could have tried to stop the growth of the tumor first and control the bleeding before operating. Let him get another few weeks of growth before slicing him open. It's an invasive surgery, risky for even an adult, but I'm the one who talked with the doctors and looked over all the options and I'm the one who decided we were going to put my kid through this. Because I'm his father, and it's my job to make those decisions." His eyes were so full of tears that when Dick looked up again, all he saw was a blur. "So if you're going to get mad at someone, Bruce, don't yell at the people busting their butts to keep RJ alive. Get mad at the one who knew he could get pneumonia or _worse_ and decided to do this anyway. Get mad at the person who probably gave him all the defective cancer genes in the first place. Take your rage out on the dumbass who brought him into this world."

He heard Bruce take a few steps toward him, even if he couldn't see through the tears. "Dick..."

"No, you're right. I'm dumb and irresponsible, it's a fact. I admit it, I'll do whatever you say, Bruce, once this is over. I'll never disobey you again. But only when it comes to me, you don't get to make decisions about RJ. He and I are a family now, and you don't get to decide..." Words suddenly failed him, and Dick's throat seized up.

Bruce sounded a little choked himself. "I understand..." Probably not fully. Dick wasn't sure whether or not he cared. "You're right. RJ is your son, and it's your decision." Bruce admitting Dick was right. He should be making a joke about the world ending, but it didn't feel as validating as it should have. "You're an adult, at any rate. You have the right to govern your own life. The right to make your own mistakes..." Yes, Bruce couldn't quite let it go of that disapproval. "Of course, _I'm_ probably going to be the one paying for the cancer treatment in Metropolis, when _Gotham_ is both better and closer to home..."

"What do you want me to do, grovel?" Dick asked wearily. Bruce froze. "I'll get on my knees if you want, I've sunk lower." The fight was all out of Dick, but he still had one principle left. "Or I'll do it for someone else. I don't care, but I'm going to take care of RJ, and I'm the one who decides what's best for him. If you can't live with that, I'll go somewhere else." He swallowed. "I'm not asking much. Just this, and I won't fight you on anything else. I'll do everything you say, I'll finally be that perfect soldier you should have had from the beginning." And then everything would have been better, no one would have suffered.

But Bruce just stared at him. Dick's vision was still too clouded to see, but he could sense it from the intense silence. Finally, Bruce spoke. "I don't want that."

It felt like a million little thumbtacks digging into his sternum. But Dick forced himself to nod. After all, did he really expect anything else? Even if he toed the line, even if he was the obedient pawn he always should have been, why would Bruce ever want him now? Nothing made up for the past.

That's what he thought, until he felt Bruce's arms around him. "I don't want that. I just want you home where I can keep you safe."

"Then sit down and stop yelling at the nurses," Dick grumbled, but his hands curled into fists around the fabric of Bruce's shirt. "Stop trying to micromanage me. When I want your help, I'll ask for it."

"Okay," Bruce said. That was all, but it was more of a concession than Dick ever heard him make before. It brought more tears to his eyes, and a few sounds that he refused to call sobs.

It was anyone's guess how long Bruce would last before trying to take over again. But for now, it was a gift, and Dick clung to it with everything he had.

It was far more than he expected from Bruce. Maybe there was a reason to hope?


	14. Chapter 14

The foremost thought in Bruce's mind was, _I never should have sent Dick to Bludhaven_.

He'd always been against the decision to _stay_ , and just about every decision after that, even if Dick's choices also gave Bruce a paradoxical sense of pride. Despite what Dick repeatedly claimed, Bruce's disapproval was not a sign of distrust or disappointment, and had very little even to do with methods or ideals.

He just knew bad things would happen to Dick in that awful city.

And he'd been _right._

Not that this was the time to assert that. But his boy had been beaten, he'd had his heart broken, his life was destroyed, he was forced into responsibilities he wasn't prepared for and had joyous life experiences twisted with tragedy, he'd been forced to compromise his morals to degrees Bruce probably wasn't even aware of, and now there was reason to believe Dick had been violated in one of the most personal ways.

None of it would have happened if Bruce hadn't sent Dick to investigate the bodies washing into the harbor. Or if he'd held onto his child tightly enough to pull him back after the fact. But now, it seemed that all his efforts to keep Dick safe had not only failed, but resulted in an unexpected consequence.

Yes, Bruce knew he had his own faults, that there were things he overlooked and occasionally pushed away on purpose, but his most recent conversation with Dick had his stomach crawling. He didn't always approve of Dick's actions, and he currently thought the young man was too distraught to fully act in his own best interests, but that Dick thought Bruce wanted a mindless pawn was too much to bear. How long had that thought been germinating, that Dick was expected to be an obedient soldier and nothing else? Did Dick really believe his questioning of Batman's authority made him less loved by Bruce?

Sometimes he wondered if Dick had a hearing problem, because Bruce was fairly sure he'd told Dick he was proud of him in the past, only for Dick to complain that nothing he did was ever good enough. And he was sure he'd put his heart on the line a few times to explicitly say, "I love you", but Dick acted like no such sentiment or anything like it had ever been expressed. Didn't Bruce call Dick his son, even before the adoption?

And the adoption! Didn't Dick recognize how hard it had been to ask, how terrifying and strange, to ask a grown man with a great fondness for his own parents if he would give all that to _him?_ He hadn't known if Dick would say yes. He hadn't been sure Dick wouldn't be offended to be asked. But Bruce knew that every time Dick may have felt that he wasn't wanted, Bruce had felt unwanted himself.

Perhaps it was childish to be so insecure. But Bruce was the one who asked to take Dick in, the one who offered his person and his name and his things. It was Bruce who asked if he could finally adopt that boy and call him his own. And all those things done with the knowledge that the preferred option for Dick would be to not be with Bruce at all, but back with his parents. Bruce wanted Dick in his home all those years ago, but when Dick first crossed over the threshold of Wayne Manor, he didn't especially want to be there. It was just better than anything else under the circumstances.

Until Bruce received a letter from Dick, some time ago, where Dick wrote that while Bruce would give anything to be with his parents again, including trading away the life he had, Dick would not. Given the power, Dick would still accept the death of his parents for the new life that had opened up to him. At the time, Bruce had been horrified to read those words, unable to understand them.

He still didn't understand. But now, he could accept that maybe it wasn't a failure on his part. It wasn't that he'd shattered the boy and made him pathologically dependent, but rather, this was the nature of time and family. "Dick?" he said, and his soft voice seemed to echo like a bass drum in the quiet waiting room. The two of them had been sitting in silence for some time since the last argument, neither uttering a word.

"Yeah?" And why should they talk? They had everything to talk about, but never could get the words out right. That was the real problem, not that Dick had selective hearing, but Bruce's conflicting evidence.

"I've forgotten, but..." When criminals were charged with crimes, they were convicted based on evidence. Sometimes that evidence could only be interpreted one way, but other times, pieces of evidence could contradict each other. It could equally support two separate theories. At those times, lawyers made a case for 'reasonable doubt', and often won, because if there was a chance that the other theory was correct, it was better not to send an innocent person to jail and possibly to the death penalty.

Bruce told Dick he loved him. He also did things that could prove the opposite. If Dick were to evaluate all the pieces of evidence... "The early years... were they good?" Reasonable doubt.

But Dick smiled. Small, tired, but genuine. "The best." No doubt there. Well...

 _Well, what?_

"Dick, if there was any time I made you feel like a possession..." Bruce said with a great deal of hesitation, "Or expendable, that's not the case at all." Dick smiled again, but it lacked the confidence it had a second ago. Back when all the evidence supported the popular theory.

"What am I to you, now?" And this was what frustrated Bruce, that Dick had to ask at all. Hadn't he said? He knew his behavior was sometimes at odds with his feelings, but for the problem to have gotten so bad...

"I took you in more for my own sake than yours," Bruce admitted. Dick's existence had saved Bruce far more than anything he'd done for the boy. An emotional construct that kept him from falling into madness. "You were someone I could confide in, someone who could understand. But you've become so much more. And I've changed, too." Jason certainly seemed to think so. But there had been good changes along the way. "You're my _son_. And I... love you."

It was hard to say those words. Not because they weren't true, but because they sounded so out of place. Like there were some words grown men didn't say out loud. Or they were too revealing, too close to leaving something vulnerable. Perhaps they weren't even sufficient for what Bruce actually felt.

But when he said that, Dick's face shone brighter than it had in years. A light Bruce thought had gone out permanently suddenly ignited, and he resolved to try harder to say the words out loud, instead of just in his mind. "But I'd like to be more than just the man you look up to unconditionally. You're not a child anymore, and I have to accept that our relationship has changed." He should have known those wonderful years of childhood wouldn't last forever. Even so, he clung to the way things used to be, tried to recapture the magic with Jason and insisted that Dick revert to his old role when they worked together. It was doomed to failure.

The early years were wonderful, but they were past now. "Has it changed that much?" Dick asked, a small twist in his smile. "I'm still snarking, and you're still brooding..." They needed to move into the future.

"Maybe not _that_ much has changed," Bruce agreed. "But we have a new development, now." He turned in his plastic seat, making sure he was facing Dick properly. "Reconciling with you has given me the happiest days of my life." Dick looked dumbfounded, and Bruce quickly continued. "I've always been afraid to lose you like I lost my parents, or Jason. But I wasn't prepared for you to love someone else more than me." Or for circumstances to pull Dick away from his father, some legitimate, some less so. He always thought if anything pushed Dick away, it would be himself. "I was afraid. Jealous, and I reacted badly."

Dick blinked, and spoke with an incredulous tone, "The happiest days of your life?" Interesting. The phrase 'I love you' had an effect on Dick, but giving specific examples and personal observations seemed to be even more effective.

Bruce filed that evidence away for later. "Yes. More than when you were young, even." More than Batman and Robin. More than when Bruce had a chipper and adoring Dick Grayson worshiping him like he hung the sun and the moon. To Bruce, it wasn't the early years that were the best. "But it's natural for you to seek your own independence. And natural that you would give more time and attention to your... new family. After all, when you came into my life, my priorities also shifted. Somehow, I forgot that."

Dick's stare was broken with a light snicker. "You were threatened by a baby."

"I still am." That sobered Dick up. "I hope... I have no reason to be..."

"You don't," Dick said in a rush, and Bruce felt himself relax. "When I said I wasn't yours, I just meant I didn't want you assuming you knew what I felt or what I wanted, not that blood is more important..." He trailed off when he saw Bruce understood. "It's not like this replaces you, I don't think you can quantify love like that..."

"I know, I just..." How to say this without sounding heartless or childish? "You will always be my family. And losing family members, in any sense..." It was a threat he'd never been able to face. Bruce shifted in his seat again, facing forward instead of to the person at his side. "If Mother or Father were ever hospitalized like this, I'm not sure I could handle it as gracefully as you have."

"Graceful? You realize I've been a wreck, right? Shouting at people, crying all over stuff, Alfred usually has to force-feed me crackers so I don't pass out..."

"Well, it's better than how I reacted when Two-Face hurt you." Even now, the memories were difficult to bear, compounded by all the near-misses they'd had since. "I... couldn't stay with you. Even after prioritizing our identities above your care, I couldn't risk... I couldn't stay and watch you die."

Dick had reached out a hand, but now retracted it. "RJ's not going to die," he said hoarsely. "That's not what I'm doing..." But Dick had to know, as did they all, that cancer was difficult to cure, and this particular type especially tricky. He had to know that chemotherepy was as destructive to the body as the disease itself, more so for a little baby still developing. This recent surgery was the easy part of the journey.

But Bruce still said, "Of course not. But I admire you, Dick. I couldn't be there for you, then. Even after you were stable, I didn't talk to you. Hardly saw you for weeks. I drove you to run away..." Those were awful days. In a note Dick left, he said _'Alfred doesn't need to worry about entertaining me and taking care of you, too. You don't want a partner. And you don't need a son.'_ The whole letter operated on the premise that Dick had no value to Bruce once he'd been fired from Robin, as if that was the only reason he'd been taken in.

And the last words he'd spoken to the boy, the words that he'd let fester for weeks and weeks before Dick finally fled the mansion in a hopeless depression? _"And you didn't listen! You disobeyed a direct order! An innocent man is dead and you were nearly killed!"_ Justification for firing his protege and not speaking to him throughout weeks of painful physical recovery. No wonder Dick had such a poor view of himself, now.

Bruce reached an arm behind Dick's chair, slipping it over his shoulders. "I don't ever want you to stop being who you are. You're a good man, and a better friend, a better father..." He gripped that shoulder so tightly, he worried he'd leave bruises. "I just don't want to lose you."

"Then why...?" Dick began, then shook his head. "Never mind, I already know the answer. You push me away, because it's not losing if you throw it out first."

Bruce grimaced. "That might be part of it..." He couldn't deny, he was guilty of those behaviors. "But usually, I'm trying to keep you safe. Even if that means making you mad at me." At Dick's quizzical look, he explained, "I never told you this, but I benched Jason as Robin. I don't know why I didn't expect it, but he ran away soon after."

Dick fought a grin. "Yeah, we Robins tend to do that."

"He hopped the country, to look for his mother. Then came the Joker, and you know the rest." They shared a somber look. "It was never that he failed me, or that I was upset with him. But I let him stay angry because I thought it might give him that extra incentive not to follow me into danger. But he died anyway. And I've done the same to you, all because I was afraid of harm coming to you..." But it never worked.

"It's pretty high-handed of you," Dick said with a light scowl, "To decide that we'd rather be hurt by you than anything else. And completely wrong, by the way."

Bruce swallowed. "Yes, I'm starting to see that, now." And Dick's scowl faded. "Leslie told me she'd watched me spend my whole life turning myself into a monster. I'm afraid... that I might take just as long unlearning that behavior."

"You're not a monster," Dick said, kindly. "She didn't mean it."

"I don't care if she did," Bruce growled, remembering how furious Leslie had been at the sight of Dick after Two-Face worked him over with a baseball bat. Had that been the impetus for what happened to Stephanie? "I'm not going to be hurt by the opinion of a killer."

"You still haven't forgiven her, huh?"

"You have?" She murdered Stephanie Brown. Just to make Bruce feel guilt, to convince all his allies to give up their own masks. She'd killed a child, and dared to act like Bruce was the monster. He had enough guilt on his conscience, but he wouldn't accept blame for that. "You can dismiss the fact that she took the life of an innocent girl?" Let alone a friend.

But Dick grew quiet. "I think, sometimes, people get backed into a corner, and they'll do anything to make the nightmare stop. Even things they normally wouldn't do." He shifted uncomfortably. "What she did was awful, and nothing will bring Steph back, but I don't want to just shut the door on her. I'd like to think someone like Dr. Thompkins could find her way back."

"Hmph. I don't maintain relationships with murderers." Dick froze. And Bruce didn't know why he felt so bad about that. These were the same words he'd said to Leslie's face, the same sentiments he'd always had. "Dick?"

"Do you feel the same way about Jason?" the young man asked in a weak voice.

"Yes." And Dick's face fell all the further. "If he keeps on as he has been, with no remorse. My personal feelings don't influence justice." When Dick remained quiet, Bruce sighed. "What did I say wrong?"

"It's not you," Dick said quickly. "But if Jason did feel remorse? You wouldn't hate him then?"

"I don't hate him now. But yes, if Jason turned his back on all of this, I'd welcome him home. Whatever it took to recover or pay his debt to society, I'd make sure he got it." Dick nodded his head at that answer. Bruce was pensive for a second, then said, "You're both my sons. Nothing changes that. And if one of you makes a mistake, however serious, all you have to do is own up to it and come home, and I'll help you."

"Prove it," Dick whispered, but before Bruce could respond, the doctor came in to the waiting room.

"Mr. Grayson, would you come with me, please?"

"I gotta go," Dick muttered, ignoring Bruce's attempts to talk. "Try taking a walk or something to burn off some of that tension."

"Dick, wait," Bruce pleaded, and finally succeeded in getting his son to pause. That done, he couldn't figure out how to compress all he wanted to say and all his questions into the few seconds he had before the doctor grew impatient. So he settled with, "It's going to be fine. I mean it. Everything's going to be fine."

It felt like a lie. It wasn't something Bruce could promise, but the sort of thing he might have told Dick when he was nine and wondered if Santa was going to get confused and look for milk and cookies at the penthouse instead of the manor. Bruce wasn't even sure what "everything" encompassed.

But it brought a smile to Dick's face all the same. "Thanks." And then he disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Alfred found Master Jason in a nearby hallway. The young man was leaning against the wall and glaring at the floor, or at least Alfred assumed so. Sunglasses hid most of what wasn't already obscured by the hood of Jason's sweatshirt, so it would have been impossible to say for certain if Alfred didn't have experience conversing with people in cowls and masks.

He opted not to lean against the wall, but did stand next to Jason in quiet camaraderie. When it seemed his presence was not intrusive, he said, "It was good of you to return. Even if we don't all express it, we are very grateful for your presence here."

"Whatever," Jason muttered, and Alfred smiled. Master Jason was a stranger in many ways, but some things hadn't changed at all. "Things still going okay in there?"

"Young Master RJ seems to have a slight fever, and there is some concern that he may develop pneumonia or bronchitis," Alfred relayed. "My information may be a little out of date, however."

Jason was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Should I be worried about this, or really worried?"

"It's certainly something to be concerned about, but I haven't heard that the situation is critical." This produced some relief in Jason, and he let out a sigh.

"Figures Dick-head's kid would be as needy as he is."

"I do not appreciate that language, Master Jason."

"Now where's the fun of being a little brother if I can't insult him?" Jason grinned, but it dropped quickly. "That's so messed up. I didn't expect any of this."

"May I ask what you did expect?"

"I don't know," Jason admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "To say hi to Bruce's parents, maybe. Not claw my way out of my own coffin." He chuckled a little. "Nice choice, by the way. Real swanky. Didn't appreciate it in the moment, but..." Alfred didn't know what to say to that, but he'd always believed that when one didn't know what to say, it was best to say nothing at all. In time, Jason continued, "When Joker kidnapped Commissioner Gordon and shot Barbara, he said we were all one bad day from going completely nuts like him."

"As I recall, the former commissioner proved that our destinies are not so completely out of our own control," Alfred reminded. "The Joker is not a tragic figure, whatever he might try to claim. He knows right from wrong, and makes his reprehensible choices anyway."

"Then why does Batman think Arkham is going to help?" Jason sneered, but appeared more frustrated than scornful. He kicked his boot against the floor a few times while Alfred considered that.

With his previous employment in Her Majesty's Service, Alfred was no stranger to taking life. But that didn't mean he approved of his charges taking up the roles of executioners. It was one thing to kill when appointed to the appropriate position and given the authority to do so, but another ethical matter entirely when one decided for themselves that they were the voice of justice. In truth, violence of any kind was a crime, and Batman was guilty of aggravated assault several times over. Saying that the ends justified the means was the sort of thing they looked down on others for.

Dr. Thompkins had taken issue with Master Bruce's penchant for involving children in his dangerous crusade, and had done the unthinkable to force him to stop. Alfred sometimes felt ashamed that he was not the one so convicted. Not that he would ever resort to the same lengths, but he could have quit at any time, and possibly should have. Or he could have reported his knowledge to the police, as he was legally obligated to do. He was proud of the good Master Bruce did for Gotham City, but that didn't mean his conscience was clear. It didn't mean he didn't feel the weight of culpability for every consequence.

They all knew right from wrong, and did wrong anyway. The only difference was that Batman and his followers did wrong to good ends. And that was usually enough for Alfred to sleep at night, but Jason was correct in observing that Batman's insistence that all life had value and that criminals could and deserved the chance to rehabilitate was only a formality when it came to the Joker. And it was Alfred's experience that when one began leaning on formalities rather than conviction, that was the time to get out of the business of life and death. Some claimed to thrive on the high stakes and excitement, but it was truly a weary life that left its affect on the soul for years to come.

Master Jason was no longer the little boy who used to steal cookies from the kitchen, but Alfred thought the young master had never looked so small. He took his sunglasses off, revealing bright but haunted blue eyes. "I had a really bad day, Alfred..." And oh, how the butler's heart broke. He reached across the small distance and gripped Jason's hand. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"I'm sure I don't have the necessary background to diagnose that."

"You're evading."

"Yes." Best to be honest about that, at least. "I could give you my opinion, Master Jason, but as I said, I am hardly an expert. My thoughts would be prattle, at best." Jason seemed to accept that, but swallowed thickly.

"You think I'm wrong, though." Also difficult to say. In the legal sense, certainly, Master Jason had committed many felonies, but so had Master Bruce. And it was hypocritical not to admit that while Batman never killed directly, many deaths had occurred as a result of his involvement. Whether or not Jason held the moral right was a question for a higher power than Alfred.

"Do _you?_ " Alfred was in the service of lost boys trying to become good men. He'd written that in his journal once, a document that would expose them all if it were ever discovered. Still, sometimes Alfred found his thoughts needed to find their way out into the world in some manner. After Dick had been brutally beaten by Two-Face, Alfred penned that observation, and found the sentiment repeated with every boy or girl to set foot in their cave.

Master Jason may have committed crimes, but he was so much more than a criminal. He was trying to find his way in the world, as all boys did, and Alfred knew Jason's heart and sense of compassion were just as strong as ever. "No." Perhaps that was small consolation in the face of the life taken, but it gave Alfred hope that the necessary reparations could be made. "Not that it matters to him."

There was no question who 'he' was. "Master Bruce might be rigid in his rules, but how you feel matters a great deal to him. It always has."

If Jason was affected by that, he didn't show it. "He's going to put me in Arkham. Or Blackgate, but probably Arkham. Whatever fuzzy feelings he's got, that's the only way this ends." He shook his head. "Everything's so wrong. In Gotham, in that house, in my head..."

"Is there anything I can do to make things right again?" It was the only thing he could think of to say. What was happening to his boys, that they had gone so far beyond his ability to care for them?

"I don't know," Jason moaned. After a pause, he turned his head away. "I didn't mean to let you down."

"Master Jason," Alfred said firmly, feeling a rush of uncomfortable tears threatening to break through. "You only let me down when you decide to give up on yourself." And he squeezed the hand still in his grasp, the hand that trembled as much as the shoulders attached to it. "For that's what all of this is really about, isn't it?"

Jason didn't answer. But he dropped his head and shoved the sunglasses onto his face before Alfred could see him cry. He then spent the next several minutes trying to hide the water creeping from his nose and eyes.

That was fine, Alfred knew how to wait. So the two stood together in the hallway, both pretending they weren't on the verge of sobbing to every person who passed by. The sight displayed less decorum than Alfred typically preferred, but when he slid his other hand onto Jason's shoulder, the boy didn't pull away, and there was no air of propriety more important than that.

* * *

"You want to what?" Bruce sounded disbelieving, and Tim couldn't blame him. The request came out of left field, and it would take all of Tim's acting skills to make it seem plausible.

"I want to talk to Mr. Carson," Tim repeated, affecting a nervous air and deliberately not making eye contact. "Would you come with me, Bruce? It's not super personal or anything, I've just never talked to a counselor before, and... I don't know. I'd feel better if you were there. Please?" Tim tried to look vulnerable and innocent, but in the back of his mind he wondered _why_ he'd never seen a counselor before, given his traumatic history. He thought he'd adjusted pretty well without one, but it did surprise him that no one hauled him off to a psychiatric office on principle.

Then again, people tended not to pay him a lot of attention. "Tim, if something is wrong," Bruce began, but Tim quickly jumped in.

"Nothing big, nothing work-related or anything," he reassured. "But we've got a lot of changes happening really quickly, and I think I need to talk to someone about it." He knew he'd messed up as soon as he'd said it. Bruce's face fell, and looked caught somewhere between hurt and petulant.

"You could talk to me," he said, and Tim was a little struck to realize how much Bruce meant it. It felt a little like falling backwards in time, to where talking to Bruce was actually an option. Back after Bruce's return to the cowl, after Bane, after Dick returned to Gotham, and Alfred. Before the world went to hell around them.

In hindsight, Tim realized that it hadn't actually been _so_ long ago, those good times, it just felt like forever. "Thanks, but..." He actually felt a little guilty. Bruce looked so helpless. Unable to make Dick's problems go away, and usually unwanted when he tried, and now Tim was rejecting his help, too. "It's Carson I need for this. But I want you to come with me. I need you," he plead, and hoped it would be convincing enough.

Because he had a plan. A somewhat manipulative plan, but he thought it would benefit everyone in the long run. Something terrible had happened to Dick, or maybe a lot of terrible things. Maybe he'd done something terrible, too. Tim could form a few theories based on the evidence, but he couldn't put them into words, or even fully admit them in his own thoughts. And judging from their behavior, the adults around him were at a similar loss. Dick needed a help that no one knew how to give right now.

And Jason was in a similar position. No one knew what he went through, except that it was horrifying. And as amazing as it was to have a loved one return from the grave, something Tim still wished on stars could happen for his dad, it was still traumatizing for Jason and everyone around him. It defied nature, and loved he might be, he wasn't the same person they lost in the explosion. Everything they knew about life and the universe was in question, while a stranger with a gun obsession stood in front of them.

So that left two options. The family could learn, quickly, how to offer Bruce's sons the help they needed while simultaneously working through their own issues, or they need to seek help from a third party.

The second option seems more logical. "Please, Bruce? You don't have to say anything, I just need you there." But no one, let alone Dick or Jason, was going to look outside the bat-cult for help, not if they thought Bruce disapproved. Since Bruce's method of coping with grief was to deliberately not do so, it wasn't like they all had great examples to draw from. Maybe Bruce was genuinely afraid of therapy, since it was something more emotional and less quantifiable, or he feared giving up the protective walls he constructed keep himself safe. Maybe he worried about people getting too close to their secret identities, or maybe he'd had a bad experience. Maybe he genuinely thought it wasn't necessary.

Tim didn't know, but he did know that no one would reach out until Bruce acted comfortable with the idea, and for that to happen, someone needed to take the first step. "Please? I know Mr. Carson's not a psychologist, but even counselors just remind me of Dana's hospital..." That did it. With a sigh, Bruce agreed to accompany Tim, and the boy gave an inner cheer. As Tim said before, he wasn't planning on discussing anything deep or especially personal, but he hoped it would get Bruce used to the idea of visiting a professional, enough so that he could guide Dick and Jason there in the future.

At the bare minimum, it was giving him something to _do_ , something to help, an activity where he felt needed. And Tim had to give him that. It wasn't that Bruce didn't want to be helpful and compassionate. The two sought out Mr. Carson and settled awkwardly into plastic chairs, though Tim's awkwardness was largely an affectation. He actually felt pretty comfortable with Carson, the man reminded him of Dick. Or how Dick usually was, full of good humor while still giving off an aura of maturity and reliability. Tim missed that.

"I don't want you prescribing him anything," Bruce said as soon as he caught a glimpse of some papers in Carson's hands, detailing the pros and cons of various antidepressants. Bruce's tone was cold and sharp, but Carson just smiled.

"I picked this info up for a different client," he said, while slipping the papers into his folder, which he then put in his briefcase. "I've got a lot of appointments today, so the office has to come with me. But I'm not a doctor," he reminded with a grin, and Tim watched Bruce flush in embarrassment. "I can't prescribe or diagnose. Counselors just give counsel. Advice. You don't even have to take it," he directed at Tim in a conspiratorial whisper. Tim laughed, Bruce grumbled a bit, but the ice was broken. "What can I do for you?"

"Well..." Tim continued to act awkward and nervous, keeping up the ruse for Bruce. "My uncle and I aren't really close," or related, "So Bruce and Dick have been like family for years, especially since my dad... passed," Tim said. "But now we've got a new addition to the family, and everyone's scrambling. I want to help, but I'm not sure where I fit in, I guess. It's a whole new world."

"Newborns require a lot of care and attention. It's not uncommon to feel little displaced when all of that attention shifts at once."

"Displaced, that's a good word for it." Like the time Zatanna accidentally teleported them to Austria when he and Batman expected to appear in Australia. But Tim wasn't especially distraught, as much as he was trying to ease Bruce into the idea of discussing feelings aloud. "I'm usually the guy who takes charge of the situation. I'm used to fixing everybody's problems, but I can't do anything right now. It's all out of my control." He saw a small reaction in Bruce, almost imperceptible unless you knew what to look for. Good, they found common ground. "I don't know anything about babies or cancer, so I feel kind of useless."

"Some people find educating themselves about an unfamiliar situation makes it less intimidating," Carson suggested. "Do you think learning how to care for an infant would help you regain some of that control?"

"Maybe, but I don't think that's the real problem. I mean, it's not like I'd be able to cure RJ, no matter how much I learned," Tim sighed. "Everyone's so stressed out, especially Dick. And I'm trying to be there for him, for everyone, but it's exhausting! Because I can't do the one thing that would actually fix the situation." Beside him, Bruce actually nodded, before catching himself and returning to a more statuesque posture. He wanted to help, Tim could tell, he just couldn't get his usual tactics to work.

But now he knew he wasn't the only one to feel that way, and Tim expected to now have a conversation on ways they could help Dick and make the situation easier. Without having to ask for help, Bruce would receive some of the answers he was looking for, and would be gently nudged back into the mindset of focusing on Dick's feelings, instead of Bruce's own fear. And with a plan of action, Bruce wouldn't feel so useless, further putting him in a mental place free to focus on empathy.

That's how Tim wanted the conversation to go. He wasn't expecting the direction they actually took. After a moment of quiet regard, Carson asked, "Why do you need to fix the situation?"

"I, uh... Huh?" Tim stammered, a little thrown to be going so far off the expected script. "Isn't it obvious?" When he didn't get an answer, he looked to Bruce, who was similarly quiet. "RJ has cancer! He can kiss a normal childhood goodbye, assuming he even lives that long, and Dick's recovering from some trauma or something – don't glare, it's kind of obvious," he shot at Bruce, who looked a little cross that Tim was disclosing so much. "Our family has been through hell the past few years, and I know 'family' is kind of a loose term, but we're barely hanging on so this really isn't a good time to add a sick baby into the mix!" Oh, wow, hadn't he chewed Bruce out for saying the exact same thing back at the motel?

Mr. Carson smiled, but it was soft and sad, not wide and effusive. "Let me rephrase that. Why do _you_ have to be the one to fix it?"

Tim froze, his brain in an actual stupor. "Because I'm... the only one," he pushed out, already thinking that couldn't be right. Except it was. More importantly, this was what he'd always done, what he was expected to do, whether he was Robin, Tim or any other alias. If he didn't step up to fix things, he would lose it all again.

And this time, he refused to lose. "You said yourself, RJ's health isn't something you have control over," Mr. Carson observed. "That's the domain of the doctors, if anyone's. So why are you putting so much pressure on yourself to make the world right again?"

These questions were so confusing. "It's my job.." Tim repeated, feeling like this was somehow obvious, but when he said the words aloud, they sounded wrong. Feeling bewildered, he sat back in his chair and knit his brows together. Why couldn't he come up with a better answer?

Carson retained his gentle smile as he spoke. "In every family, even ones without blood ties, there are unspoken rules. No one discusses or votes on them, but everyone just knows that some things are so. Maybe there's one person you always know you can go to for comfort, or the peacemaker, or someone who takes charge and makes decisions. You all know who's buttons can be pushed and which ones should never, _ever_ be pushed. There's a system and an order that goes without saying." Tim tilted his head, thinking about this. "And then one day, something changes."

"Like a baby?"

"Yes, or any number of things. Someone does something that breaks the rules, and that leads to confusion and misunderstandings. The family's infrastructure may need to change, and some people deal with change by kicking and screaming." Ironically, Bruce was nodding as if this made perfect sense to him, while Tim still felt confused.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Tim, who told you that it was your job to fix everyone's problems?"

"No one, it's just... what I've always done..." He looked back and forth between Bruce and Mr. Carson. "My parents weren't always around when I was little, so I learned how to handle things. After my mom died, I stepped up to be there for my dad, and I helped take care of him through some medical stuff. My girlfriend had a crisis and I helped her out, Bruce had a rough time after his son died," that earned a grumble from Bruce, "So I went next-door a lot to help them out, too..." he shrugged. "I help people. It's just what I do."

"And when did that change?"

Tim didn't remember saying anything changed, but when he thought about it... "The past couple years, some bad things happened to my friends and I wasn't there. Or when I was, they didn't want my help." He pursed his lips. "I wasn't around when my dad was killed, either. Lately I haven't been helping anyone."

"That's not true," Bruce interjected, the first comment since the conversation started.

"Do you feel your dad might have survived if you'd been present?" Carson asked, and Tim could easily interpret the frown on his face.

"I know what you're gonna say, but yeah, I do," he replied, deciding not to lie. Bruce was less than thrilled by that. "Maybe you think I can't take on a criminal by myself, but there were a lot of things I could have done if I were there. I turned away from him, and bad things happened." Not necessarily his fault, but still. "Just like I left Dick by himself, and bad things got worse. I shut out my girlfriend, and she..." Yeah, that was Stephanie's own stupid fault but Tim could have done so much to stop it from happening. "I could have made a difference. But I didn't know, I wasn't there to help."

"You broke the rules." Carson paused for second while that sink in, and Bruce grew frustrated.

"Nothing that happened is Tim's fault," he angrily declared, which would've been nice to hear, if it hadn't come from the man who used to Stephanie Brown as a chess piece to manipulate him into being Robin again. "You did nothing wrong!"

"No one's saying he did." How Carson could smile while facing Bruce Wayne's attitude was a mystery. "It may not be anyone's fault. The system, the natural order, simply changed, and that can lead people feeling confused and helpless, even assigning blame." That did describe how Tim felt a lot of the time. "One natural reaction is to push back against the change, restating their role and trying to force everything back to the way it was." Was he saying that Tim was being too controlling? "Another reaction might be to reject the family order entirely, to rebel or run away."

"Dick does that," Bruce observed, and Tim whipped his head in the man's direction so hard he got whiplash. "Things change, and he leaves it behind if he doesn't like it." He then frowned. "I'm usually the first one." Tim couldn't believe what was happening. _Bruce Wayne_ was opening up and responding to therapy like it had been his idea, while Tim was finding his whole worldview under fire.

"Things used to be good!" he blurted out. "I liked the way things were, we worked! And then everything fell apart..." What was wrong with trying to get that life back? "This baby brought us all back together! We were going to be a family again, we were supposed to be happy!" He was starting to rant, and dropped his voice when Bruce and Carson got identical sympathetic looks. "Why isn't anybody happy?"

Carson inclined his head towards Bruce and gave an inviting smile. He had to be the only person on the side of the hospital still wearing a smile. "You want to take this?"

"Tim," Bruce haltingly offered, and it sounded similar to the voice he used when Tim's mom died, "Sometimes things change and there's no way to go back. It's a fact of life that we have to accept."

"You don't." He probably shouldn't have said that.

Bruce gave a pained look, but continued on. "Life changed. And maybe it'll never feel like it did before, but we can't control that. Expecting a little baby to somehow fix all the fights and wrongs in our lives in is unrealistic."

"Unrealistic? You're actually lecturing me on being unrealistic, Mr. I Haven't Changed My Clocks Since I Was Eight?" He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "This is backwards! You were supposed to realize you had a problem, I just came here so you would..." Oh. The realization hit him all at once. He was moving people around like chess pieces, as manipulative and controlling as Batman. When did he turn into that?

"I'm sure there's a lot of people who need you," Carson added, "But it's a little disingenuous to force that help on them without looking at yourself first." And now Cass' Bible quote was back! How did Tim not see this for himself? If Wonder Woman were here, she would surely have something to say about hubris.

Bruce had a rueful twist to his lips. "It's been my experience today that Dick is more appreciative of genuine friendship than attempts to force or manipulate him somewhere. Even if it's for his own good," he finished with a bit of a huff. But Carson agreed with him.

"I think that's true of most people."

"So what do I do? Nothing?" Tim complained, and both men shook their heads.

"No, Tim, it's wonderful that you care so much about the people around you. And you strike me as someone very capable, a good man to have in a crisis. But what if this time, you didn't take that role?"

"Huh?" If not him, who? What if no one did? Was he supposed to expect other people to pull themselves together just because he didn't feel like it?

"What would happen if this one time, you let someone else step up, let the others rally around you?"

"But... Dick's got a new baby and stuff, he needs help more than I do." And Jason, someone had to figure him out.

"What if it wasn't a case of either or?" Carson pressed. "What would it take for you to let go?"

The idea was terrifying... "I don't want to," Tim finally admitted. It was easier to be the leader, and know what was happening next. Easier to accept blame when something went wrong, than to accept that bad things could break through all the barriers you trusted in. "Focusing on other people means I don't have to focus on myself." It was weird to have this conversation with Bruce in the room. He never thought he'd tell anyone, let alone Batman. There were some things you just didn't share with the cowl, whether the man was wearing it or not.

Still, something was coaxing the words out of him. "...My stepmom, she kinda had a psychotic break when Dad died. She's in Bludhaven now, and the treatment's great, but I don't think she'll ever get better." He shifted in his chair, clenching his hands. "I don't want to fall apart like that. It's scarier than dying. But being in charge, even behind the scenes, it proves I'm still functional. Rational." Somehow, it sounded a little less rational out loud, but Tim dreaded that some day he might self-reflect and find himself losing his mind, just like Dana.

Bruce looked heartbroken and horrified by the revelation, and even Carson's smile was sad. "I can't tell you why some things trigger mental illness in one person but not another," the social worker said, "Or why some people find it easier to recover than others. But I know that if you surround yourself with people you don't trust to hold you up, then no amount of control or competency will save you from falling when tragedy strikes. And it comes for all of us, Tim," he gently said. "All of us are going to have the one Bad Day above all bad days. You need to trust that other people can save themselves sometimes, and that they're going to come and save you."

"It's not that I don't trust them," Tim hesitated. He was about to say more, then stopped. He wasn't sure how to admit it with Bruce sitting right there.

"The side of you that needs help isn't inferior," Carson said. "In fact, you might find yourself more effective at helping your friends when you embrace it." Bruce frowned to hear that, visibly puzzled, and Tim mulled the idea over in his mind a little.

"I think I'm just scared," he finally admitted, and received an encouraging smile in return.

"Then it's the perfect time to reach out, isn't it?"

* * *

After the conversation finished, and Tim went on his way, Bruce stopped Mr. Carson. "Thank you for your insight."

"Well, it's my job," the man modestly said. There was a pause, filled only by that ever-present smile. Finally, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Bruce hesitated, then plunged forward. "I'm no stranger to loss and tragedy. As the world is already aware," he grimaced, and Carson responded with a wry smirk. Bruce Wayne's entire life was on display, the press knew more of his trauma than the man was comfortable with. But he was still untouchable, the head of a company, head of the family, head of a crime-fighting mission. "I'm used to being in control of a situation. When that status quo is threatened, I can react.. badly."

"Well, you're not alone there," Carson chuckled, which made Bruce feel a little better about revealing such information.

A part of him still thought the whole thing was a mistake. "Fear and anger can be turned into motivating forces," Bruce said, thinking of all his training to be Batman. For that reason, he never wanted to let go of his pain. What if he lost his drive, his vengeance, his commitment to the mission? Or worse, what if letting the pain fade meant the memories of his parents would fade also? "But recently, I have noticed a disturbing pattern of taking that anger or fear out on the people I love."

It was a personal thing to admit, and could have terrible results if Carson decided to share it. The tabloids were always hungry for any hint that Bruce was mortal, and weren't satisfied with the juvenile antics that 'Brucie' readily supplied them with. Even now that Dick was grown and Jason was buried, a suggestion that he'd been a violent or inappropriate guardian was still gold. Everyone had an article visualizing a battered and broken child, just waiting for a breath of proof to publish alongside it.

But the fact that Bruce had struck Dick out of anger on occasion outweighed everything the press could say. That Jason found his former guardian so angry and volatile that Bruce was beyond recognition deserved action. "I would like to stop this behavior." And recognizing the problem meant nothing if it didn't lead to change.

So, Bruce voiced the hardest question he'd ever had to ask. "What would you recommend I do?"


	15. Chapter 15

If anyone asked, Barbara was assisting Martian Manhunter on a world-wide cyber crime that had governments stumped and begging for help from the JLA. All very high-security and classified, of course, and too important to be pulled away from, excepting an emergency with RJ.

The truth was she was breezing through Sudoku puzzles.

No one really bought the lie, but it sounded serious enough that they didn't risk calling her on it, save for Cassandra. She made one attempt to engage Barbara in conversation and got her head bitten off, so now she sat a few feet away and just fixed Barbara with a critical glare. The puzzles were not a big enough distraction to block that out, but it was still a barrier between her and the others, however flimsy. Barbara worked best when there was a wall between herself and the information.

It wasn't always that way. She used to be Batgirl, out in the thick of things and loving it. Now, she was desperate to be dealing with this from the safety of a computer screen. But even so, Barbara couldn't leave or fully detach. She still sat in the waiting room, the station through which all information passed. Gathering intel was what she did, it was how she asserted her control over situations where she was otherwise powerless.

But this was one time where all the information in the world wouldn't help her do anything. No, if she wanted to be of any help, she had to open up and tactfully address topics that were painful to her, something she'd spent the past several years aggressively not doing. And it didn't help that she was still furious with Dick over the way their relationship had ended. Forgiveness wasn't something that came easily to her, and when it came to her nightmares, she preferred to avoid conversations that would bring that trauma up.

" _You can be a comedy or a tragedy, in the end."_ Dick used to say that. Three guesses as to which way they were all shaping up.

Maybe she should have stayed in Metropolis.

But she hadn't, so she sat in a corner of the waiting room and hid behind her computer, trying to figure out what to do. She looked preoccupied to the outside world, but her mind was active and her ears were listening. She easily kept abreast of RJ's situation, saw Bruce and Dick making tentative attempts to break the walls surrounding each other, and saw Jason skulking closer and closer like an animal sizing up a trap. The atmosphere was a far cry from the shouting match they'd all had when they first arrived in the hospital, but something in Barbara couldn't relax or take joy in it.

Cassandra could. Barbara wasn't so wrapped up in herself to not see Batgirl and Robin trying to move them around like a bunch of puppets. She didn't think their endgame was anything sinister, but it was still insulting to be manipulated, even into something as noble as reconciliation. And if Tim _was_ trying to play matchmaker between herself and Dick, she swore she would wring his scrawny bird neck. So she felt a little vindicated when Tim moped his way over to Cassandra and said, "Well, I just got schooled..." Apparently his tactics, well-intentioned as they were, had been discovered. "I'm through fixing things. Like, I still want to help, but I think maybe I was focused on the wrong problems..." And the two of them slipped into a quiet discussion.

Barbara tuned them out and solved another sudoku. She needed something more challenging. Something to distract from the thoughts of how she could have prevented so much of this, how useless she was now, or irritation that Dick was still anywhere near Tarantula after she'd _warned_ him, after what that little witch had tried to do...

Useless thoughts. Unfair thoughts. But hers all the same, and they wouldn't leave. In the meantime, Alfred and Jason had returned to the waiting room, and Jason dropped into a chair with a loud complaint. "What's their problem, anyway? Like, sheesh, we all know they love each other! Can't the two of them hug it out?" Barbara looked over and glared.

"Dick and I getting back together isn't the given everyone thinks it is, you know!" She hotly called out, only to be met with a strange look from both Alfred and Jason.

"Uh, we weren't talking about you, Barbie..."

Oh. "You meant Bruce, didn't you...?" Not her. Of course, not everything was about Barbara Gordon, she needed to think about others.

"Yeah," Jason huffed, now back on track, and suddenly Barbara was part of the share circle. She could have kicked herself. "Bruce and Dick. The two of them are braindead. Why is it so hard for them to just _talk?_ " he whined, then trailed off and repeated his question in a quieter voice. ".…why is it so hard?"

Yes, why? Why did every conversation feel like a writhing pain in her gut? "I couldn't tell you, my boy," Alfred said with a comforting hand on Jason's knee. "But I've always found the hardest tasks to be the ones most worth doing." Well, there was truth in that. But just because you could convince a horse it was thirsty didn't necessarily mean you could make it drink.

Barbara did want to make up with Dick. She just wasn't sure she could yet, not with so many other sorrows and pains weighing her down, all of which had been shoved aside to save the world from the crisis rapidly building on the horizon.

But if she were honest with herself, there was always going to be a crisis, or an alien invasion, or a gang war. It was always going to be something, and the truth was, Barbara just didn't want to deal with things. She wanted excuses to move on, excuses to leave things buried, excuses to shut the door. Because opening those doors again meant letting things in, and the last time she'd let something in without checking every peephole...

"Worth it for who?" Jason muttered, but he seemed to be considering Alfred's words. Barbara wanted to see Jason make up with Bruce and come home. She wasn't sure of the whole situation between them now, but Jason's death had been a terrible loss, and she missed her little Robin. Maybe that wasn't a costume he wanted anymore, but she wanted to know he was back to stay.

In younger years, she used to go over to the manor to watch movies with the boys, first with Dick, then with Jason. Once or twice she'd attempted it with Tim and Cass, but since neither of them actually lived at Wayne Manor, having the three of them over as civilians with nothing pressing to do was a rare occurrence. So it remained a memory belonging to her Batgirl days, when Dick used to tease her about being their bat in a flock of birds. He teased her about a lot of things, especially about her love of horror movies.

" _Why do you watch this stuff, Babs? It's gonna give you nightmares."_ But there was the thrill, and she couldn't let go of that high. And since Dick so obviously wanted to be more than just a friend, he watched with her, even as he jumped out of his skin. _"That's okay, I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway."_ Jason, though, that kid loved scary movies. He could watch and talk horror until the day he... well, endlessly.

Maybe she was a little jealous of those nights at Wayne Manor. Who wouldn't be? Big house, not having to go home from the night job alone, having someone close to share the pain... but she chose something different.

That's what she told herself, that she chose to be different, and it wasn't a lie. But a part of her knew Bruce never would have taken her on as Robin even if she wanted him to. Even so, whatever Bruce _might_ have done, it was still a choice _she_ made. She could have never stomached being a Robin. It wasn't just the obscene training, however effective, or the unreasonable and unyielding rules. There was more, and with all that being Robin entailed, all it _cost._.. well, all the huge mansions, movies and popcorn in the world couldn't have made up the difference.

" _Robin Redbreast in a cage... puts all heaven in a rage..."_ She teased Dick right back. And then the poem stopped being a joke. Maybe it never was. But heaven could have the birds, cry for them in their nests of down and thorns, even bring them back from the dead, it seemed. But Bats looked after themselves.

And yet... Unwillingly, her eyes darted to her wheelchair. She forced them to move back to Jason, but that didn't quell the bitterness. That bitterness she wasn't supposed to be feeling. Because she chose this, and it was better, who wanted to be a Robin, anyway? She was the hero of her own story, she fought dragons and titans, she wielded more power than any Leaguer on the planet...

So why did she have to try so hard? _"You laugh at the darkness, or you become part of it. Comedy or tragedy."_ But Dick hadn't laughed in nearly a year. And people came up out of the ground like sunflowers these days.

Even Bruce repaired his own spine.

"So, where are Dick-head and the munchkin, anyway? They about ready to stop giving us all heart attacks?"

"I do wish you would find another nickname, Master Jason."

The hero of her own story. A useless hero. What could she do to save the day? She always had to be twice as strong, twice as fast, twice as smart as the boys, just to prove herself. Twice as everything, to prove herself to the adults, to hold her own among the metas. Always working overtime to be the best, and then Joker happened, and she had to be four times stronger, faster, smarter, just to prove herself equal. The world wasn't fair, but Barbara couldn't focus on that. She buried that initial bitterness, shut the door on it.

But she never really moved past it. _"What's he doing to my father, Bruce?"_ It was always about other people, even on the worst day of her life. She acted so independent, everyone's rock, she who chose her own destiny, but the attention was always on someone else. She was always underestimated, never taken seriously, and at some point, she made that work for her. It was her idea if they underestimated her, or if her needs were pushed aside to focus on something else. All part of the plan. But could she really say her choices were her own, when there was really only one option in the first place?

She chose this. She chose Batgirl, then Oracle, she chose Dick, then she broke up with Dick, she made all her own choices but it was never between two equal things, never because she actually had full control. Was that all an illusion? And what good did all her independence and power do now, when there was a sick baby who lived or died by heaven's grace? When the man she loved had a baby with another woman? When she was falling in love with that baby and she wasn't sure if she even had a connection to it or this city anymore? What could Oracle do now, or Barbara, for that matter, and how much of her help even within her rights to give?

And maybe, had some of the choices up to this point... been wrong?

No, she couldn't admit to that. She was trained by Batman, after all.

Batman's star pupil, mostly because she actually listened, but she'd always been better at Dick than detective work, anyway. Yet still held out at arm's length, not really part of the flock. Even so, she had enough respect and privilege to help Batman, and barge into his house to watch horror movies with just a word.

And then... she lost everything. Not _everything_ , and everyone always said it didn't change anything, but it did. She was indispensable to Batman as Oracle, and sometimes got a little smug watching him flounder a little without her in Gotham now, but back then, she could so easily imagine the words on his tongue... _"How did you let this happen, Barbara? Didn't I train you better than this? You should never have been Batgirl."_

Just insecurities. She told herself they were groundless. But who was she now? Not the vigilante who garnered respect from everyone, yet stood apart. Not the girl who did everything right, who danced through Gotham and dazzled all she met. But she wasn't breakable, she wasn't helpless. She didn't need well-meaning guys hovering over her or protecting her, and she wasn't something to take for granted, someone assumed to always be there, then forgotten until the next time they had a question.

But if all that was true, then why was a sniffly baby that wasn't even hers driving her to the edge? And why couldn't she do a thing about it? From the very beginning, she begged, borrowed and forced her way into this circle, then lost her place to an act of violence. She forced her way back, only to feel another distance between herself and the center, a wider gap than the space between Gotham and Metropolis.

She left Dick, left them all, she didn't get to come back now and force her way back in, didn't get to expect anything, as if she suddenly _cared_ \- "Hey, Barbara, what percentage of babies get-"

"Oh, shut up, Jason, and leave me alone!" she shot, and Jason looked startled. Hurt, even.

And then anger took over. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Nothing, sorry," she muttered back, and Jason ground his teeth.

"What happened to you? You turned into a total bitch!"

"Master Jason!"

"It's true!" Jason retorted, crossing his arms and sulking in a very teenaged way. It looked out of place on his nearly adult frame. Good grief, how old was Jason now? Physically _or_ mentally? "And quit telling me everyone took my death hard and that's why you're all mental cases now. You can't pin that on me!"

"What happened to me? What do you _think_ happened to me, you little turd?" Barbara yelled back, not appreciating Jason's comments and not really wanting to self-reflect enough to find out if they were true. "You really expect me to be Pollyanna all the time?" But there was a strange joy, Barbara found, in arguing with Jason like old times. Having a totally immature argument, shouting teenage obscenities, it almost felt like turning back time. "It's not like you've been a sparkly ray of sunshine since you showed up!"

"Hey, I just came back from the dead!"

"Well, I had to _live!_ " Barbara shouted, and as soon as she'd said it, her face became as shocked as Jason's.

Did she mean that? She didn't think so, but then again, she'd been in a very, _very_ dark place in the interim between Batgirl and Oracle...

She let out a breath, but not of relief. It was laborious, fiercely controlled. "You think I don't tell myself every second I need to calm down and be more supportive? That I need to be nicer? Better? I get that nothing I have going on compares to half the train wreck in this room. I'm constantly telling myself "Get it together. Come on, Barbara, rally! Because this is the one time you're really needed!" You think I don't know I'm just a speck in the world that's constantly trying to set itself on fire, or that I'm the outsider barging in and being a drama queen? I _know_ that, Jason, but I'm a human being and I can't bottle up my feelings all the time! And unlike you, I was actually around to experience all this crap your little family caused or went through, so don't you dare tell me how I'm supposed to feel!"

There was silence in the waiting room. Long enough that Barbara felt she needed to fill it, even if she could only get her voice to grumble. "Sorry to snap at you."

"No, you're not." Well, only half true.

Jason kicked his shoes against the tile. He looked uncomfortable, but eventually mumbled out some words. "So... when I first moved in with Bruce, everything was great, I was so happy. Because, duh, mansion. All the stuff I could ever want, and, you know, night job..."

"That's great, Jason," Barbara muttered. What was the point?

"Every day was so great, I was happy all the time, and then Alfred organized my sock drawer one morning and I completely lost it." Alfred gave a twitch of his lips, confirming the story. "Turns out I wasn't as happy as I thought I was. Kind of miserable, actually." He locked eyes with Barbara for a minute, until she got embarrassed and had to look away.

" _Batman and I are worried, yes. Not because we doubt you, it's because we love you. Do you really not see that?"_

"So, I dunno, maybe you're sick of pretending, too?"

She didn't want pity, wanted respect more than comfort, and so, struck out at the people who loved her. She was turning into Bruce. Trained by Batman, in all the best and worst ways. Huntress accused her of that, and Barbara hadn't wanted to hear it, but she knew it was true. Even though she turned it around and accused Dick of the same thing.

And now Tim was manipulating friends and Jason was holding grudges like it was child's play. And Cass did the whole silence thing... Were they all turning into their mentor? Just like he wanted, perhaps, if only subconsciously? A fleet of carbon-copy minions who did his bidding exactly how he would and never talked back.

And that's when Bruce decided to show up. He appeared at her side as suddenly as Batman ever had, startling Barbara and apparently Jason, too. He shoved a few business cards into her hands and barked, "I need you to look into these individuals and their institutions. Eliminate the ones who would be likely to sell secrets to the press or otherwise break doctor-patient confidentiality." Sometimes Dick and Cassandra would crouch down when they talked to her, or find a chair so as to meet her eye level. So Barbara didn't have to look up, so it didn't feel like they were looking down on her. Bruce never did. He looked down on everyone. "Try to find the one with the most experience with high-profile clients who also has the greatest integrity."

"The hell, I'm not your secretary!" Barbara snapped, and she actually knocked her laptop to the floor in her frustration. Somewhat halfheartedly; she regretted the action midway through, but the physics had taken over by that point. It ended up toppling to the floor while her mouth made a consternated 'O' shape. Even so, she didn't grieve for the computer, just buried her face in her hands and sucked air in through her teeth. Why was she taking everything so personally? Why was she, the mighty Oracle, falling apart?

When she looked up again, everyone was staring at her. "Barbara?"

"What?" she hissed, still feeling completely out of control and hating it. "I'm not allowed to have a meltdown? Everyone else has, why can't I have a turn? Or is that family only?"

Bruce cleared his throat to reply, but Barbara cut him off. "Just shut up." And he did, that was the surprising thing.

She didn't thank Tim when he silently retrieved her laptop. Luckily, it didn't seem anything important had broken, but the frame had a little crack on one of the corners, and she wasn't sure if the CD drive would ever open again.

"You can melt down if you want," Tim said. "We understand. It's rough on everybody." Right, other people were suffering, she shouldn't be making everything about her. Other people to save, other people to focus on, she needed to step aside, find something else. Slide under the rug, because everyone would just shove her there anyway and if she did it herself, she could control it.

But then Tim put his arms around her. "If we lose that little baby, I don't know what we're going to do..." Something in Barbara had already snapped earlier, but now she felt a new sensation, like some sort of fusion. Not much, but enough that she actually felt like crying into Tim's shoulder.

She didn't though. Just patted him on the back and blinked a lot. Tim did all the crying for her. "It'll be fine, Tim."

"Yeah, like you can promise that," he said bitterly, and their embrace went on in silence. For several seconds, she just stared over his shoulder at Bruce, who bore the face of a stone, until Tim finally said, "Thanks for coming back. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Yup, everyone always needed Oracle. "It's not permanent."

"I know," Tim said softly. "But it means a lot to me." And suddenly, Barbara felt like hugging him for real.

When he pulled away, Barbara felt like she could function as a decent human being again. Who knew how that worked, but looking after her Robins always had that effect. Maybe that's just what Bats did.

In time, Barbara even felt up to dealing with Bruce. She looked over the business cards he'd given her and was a little surprised to find they were for various therapists and counseling services. "For Dick?" she asked.

"For me." Bruce's voice was quiet, but it didn't seem like he was trying especially hard to hide the information. Jason had fled the room almost as soon as Bruce showed up, and Tim and returned to his conversation with Cassandra, but Barbara got the impression that Bruce would have given the same answer had they been paying rapt attention.

"Get out of town," she breathed, wondering what parallel dimension she'd wandered into. She'd only been saying this for years, Leslie had said it for years, Dick, Alfred, Jason, and all with nothing but scorn for their efforts.

But it didn't seem that Bruce was lying. "Good for you." In response, Bruce raised a formidable eyebrow that said he didn't really want to talk any more about this. "I'll get started on those searches."

"Thank you." And now the world was ending, wasn't it? She expected Bruce to leave, now that his business was finished, but instead he took a seat next to her. "Incidentally, I do consider you family, in all circumstances. You were always meant to be one of us."

Barbara punched him in the thigh so she wouldn't cry. What Robin could get away with that?

And if Bruce could change after all this time, maybe she stood a chance of letting some of her demons go...

* * *

Jason didn't want to talk to Bruce. He didn't. Didn't want to see him or know of his existence until the point where he could cause the old man enough hurt to...

To what? Erase his own pain? When Jason actually thought about his motivations, they started to feel a little less justified. Which was why his feet, after hours of running, hiding and sulking, circled back and led him to Bruce. Maybe his subconscious secretly wanted this, though Jason doubted it, because it wasn't as if his feet would take him to Fiji if he just shut his brain off.

But even if he didn't want to talk to Bruce, it still felt like something that needed to be done. He'd spent the past day seeing everyone else turn into dysfunctional, anal-retentive versions of themselves, and he was a little sick of watching it. After all the things he'd learned since reuniting with these people, Jason felt like he should at least try to have words.

He just wasn't sure what those words would be. So he stopped in front of Bruce and just took a minute to revel in the man's surprised face. Barbara sensed this was going to be a private conversation, and Bruce had a small betrayed look as she wheeled away. But that left the two of them alone...

"So... how's your foot?" he eventually tried.

"It'll heal." Awkward silence. "I've had worse."

"Probably." Now what? "You deserved it." Oh, that probably wasn't going to help. Not that Jason didn't mean it, or that he was in any way sorry.

Bruce frowned, kind of his natural state, really. "Still a needlessly extreme reaction." And all those thoughts of peaceful conversation went flying out the window. Who was Bruce to judge him?

"I'll tell Batman that next time I see him dangling some dude off a building," Jason drawled. "Word on the streets is that he throws people out windows and _maybe_ his sidekicks are around to catch them." At least Bruce had the decency to flinch. "You'd go that far, but get all holy over my method?"

"To take a life-"

"Save me. There are things way worse than death." He ignored any echoes of his conversation with Barbara. "You make these dumb rules that don't even work, and villainize anyone who doesn't agree with you! No wonder our friends all hate you!" Bruce didn't like that barb, not at all. "You set impossible standards and ridiculous dogma and punish us when we don't live up to it! It's like you get off on our failure!"

"That is not true!"

"Yeah? Wanna look me in the eye and tell me you're not waiting for every single one of us to fail? You actually believe we're just as capable as you are, that we don't need you to check our work and hold our hands and tell us what to think?" Bruce stood, swiftly and full of conviction, and he did look Jason in the eye.

But he didn't say anything. "Thought so," Jason sneered, right in Bruce's pompous face. "If you didn't think you were some crime-fighting Messiah, you'd call the Justice League to help deal with Joker. Hell, the Teen Titans would have been more effective than anything in Arkham. You just think we're all incompetent. Stupid, little birdies that only hold you back from heroic showdowns with your boyfriend."

Bruce's jaw twitched. "It's not like that," he growled. "I don't want to watch any of you _die._ "

Jason gave a wicked smile. "And how's that been working out?" Ah, pushing Bruce's buttons was such fun. And seeing the genuine pain buried in the man's eyes, not hidden by a cowl, that did things to Jason, caused some bittersweet feeling to swirl in his gut until he felt like crying or throwing up. It wasn't that he didn't believe Bruce hadn't been affected by his death, hadn't missed him, just...

Not enough. Those were the only words Jason could use to describe it. Whatever Bruce felt, what he did, what Jason needed, there was always a sense of 'not enough'. Nothing ever filled the chasm. "Even your favorite son couldn't measure up."

"I don't have favorites." Bruce looked pained, it was an old argument.

"As if. Everyone knows it but him." Another contradictory feeling, this one creating a murmur in Jason's heart. He still hadn't figured out exactly why. "But good job hiding it, he never had a clue. Bet he wouldn't believe it if you told him."

"Probably not." Bruce's admission surprised Jason into silence. "I didn't tell either of you how proud I was nearly as much as I should have. But I am." His lips twisted into something that was both a smile and a grimace. "He forgets."

And Jason had to give the old man that. For all the fights, there were still plenty of instances where Bruce broke out of his shell enough to express some praise or sentiment. Enough that Dick's constant angsting seemed a little unwarranted. Since Jason couldn't deal with the fact that Bruce just said he was proud of him in the present tense, he ignored it for the moment and suggested, "Maybe he's just one of those personalities? Like, you tell them they're skinny and they barely register on a scale, but they always think they're fat?" Bruce gave him an odd look. "What?"

"Nothing, just thinking there might be some merit to that." Huh. As close to saying Jason might be right as he was ever likely to hear. "The two of you had darkness in your childhoods. Similar to mine, but different as well. I may have been cocky in assuming I knew what you both needed." And now Bruce was admitting he might have been wrong and didn't know things. Someone needed to go look out the window and see if pigs were flying.

Then again, this was Gotham...

"Well... duh, I've been saying that all along."

"Then I apologize for not listening."

Jason felt a little like his brain was dripping out his ears. "What happened to you? Did you get mindwiped or something?" Bruce grimaced, but he did answer, and even sounded honest.

"No, but today I've realized that my way of viewing things might be incomplete." Admitting weaknesses now? "I'm trying to be... open to other responses."

After a few seconds of trying to process that statement alongside the man who uttered it, Jason shook his head and gave up. "Well, cool. Let me know how that goes. In the meantime, you've noticed that not-your-favorite kid is turning into a certifiable nutjob, right?"

"Fatherhood does that to you," Bruce smirked, but dropped it quickly. "I know he's working through some... problems."

"Yeah, problems," Jason snorted. Understatement of the year. "And let me guess, he doesn't get to come home until he fixes them himself?"

"What? No, where would you get that idea?"

"I don't know, experience?" He shook his head, finding that anger returning. "You can talk about turning over a new leaf all you want, but what you say and what you do have to match up."

"I'm not sure I get your meaning."

"I'm calling you a liar!" Jason spat, letting loose some of the steam building up. "You said you were proud of me, just a second ago, but you don't mean that, do you?" He didn't give Bruce a chance to answer. He didn't need to. "How could you, right? Anyone who takes life is no child of yours, and there's no such thing as redemption or salvation in the Mighty Church of the Sacred Bat! Sinners are cast out, doesn't matter what they did or why, or what you promised!"

"Jason-"

"You told me you loved me!" he shrieked, then became aware of what he'd just revealed. Jason stamped down those feelings and blazed on through. "I mean, only an idiot would believe it, but you're still pretty sick to go around saying stuff like that if you don't mean it."

"And what made you think I didn't?" If Jason's spine froze, if his heart beat a little quicker, he didn't show it. "Because I didn't go on a killing spree in your name?" Bruce had been the slightest bit tender, but now grew cold. "You want me to kill Joker for what he did to you? Is that what it takes to prove someone's feelings? What about your father? He hurt you, too. Would putting him in the ground be good enough for you?"

"Oh, you did not just-"

"Tim's stepmother had a mental breakdown at the loss of her husband. Would my institutionalization have convinced you?"

"Don't you dare turn this around and make it my fault, you pompous, old man!" More out of habit than anything, Jason raised his fist, though he didn't really intend to hit Bruce. Not yet, anyway, this was still the threatening stage, the warning.

But it triggered a response in Bruce, a reflexive defense, and the man's hand also clenched into a fist and raised a minuscule amount. So small, just enough to prove he was about to pop one off before wrenching himself back under control, but it was enough to change the tension in the room and Jason smirked.

"Go ahead," he sneered, "You want to put me in my place, right? Said so yourself, it wouldn't be anything I haven't had before. But maybe _your_ lessons will stick?" Bruce backed down immediately, and while this was Jason's goal, the attitude shift perturbed him a little. "Really? Don't wanna try beating some sense back into your kid? Since that's apparently a thing you do now," he added with some malice.

Bruce twitched. "If you're talking about our skirmishes in costume-"

"Wanna try that again, big guy?" Jason leveled Bruce with a glare. "You told me you loved me. The whole world thought you loved Dick. But the way you love him is looking awfully familiar, you know? And I don't need to see the same movie twice."

"Then why are you here?" Bruce asked, and it didn't sound challenging or demanding. Which is the only reason Jason didn't storm out of the room.

Why was he here? Maybe for that baby, maybe because Replacement got in his head with some talk about duty or nostalgia, maybe it was for Dick, maybe he wanted to prove he was more than how empty and worthless he felt...

Or maybe... he wanted to be wrong.

That was a scary thought.

Bruce dropped his head and sighed, actually looked something close to sincere for a brief second. "I'm sorry, Jason. This isn't what I wanted to say at all. This isn't... anything I want for us..."

"Yeah, well, best laid plans of mice and men." Then what _did_ Bruce want? Jason couldn't deny, he was curious to know. Even desperate to know.

Bruce just smiled at the literary reference. "I remember when you had to read that book for your English class." Back when Jason had an English class. When he lay on the floor in the study and kicked his legs in the air, complaining loudly about how it was all a waste of his time. Even if he actually thought that some of the authors said some good stuff, he had to keep up appearances.

Alfred sometimes brought him snacks. Bruce might hover around and ask how things were going, offer help that Jason always refused because, again, appearances. On really rare occasions, Dick would get down on the floor and talk through an assignment with him.

It was a good life. "And I remember when you used to actually be nice. So much for the past, right?"

"Jason..." Bruce sighed again. It was an unsettling action on him. "I want to be better. I'm trying to learn how."

"And what do you want me to do in the meantime?" Jason asked. "I don't actually care about your personal growth, you know. Even if you became this kindly Daddy Warbucks type, and somehow convinced me that you're not full of crap, even if I believed that you'll kick Dick-head out of his home for no reason but you'd _never_ do that to _me_ , it still comes down to the fact that you suck at protecting this city. I've done more for Gotham in a few weeks than you've done in your whole career."

"You certainly have," Bruce said, and it didn't sound like a compliment.

It set Jason's teeth on edge. "What do you want from me, Bruce? Everybody wants something, and don't pretend you're different. I'd love to be done with you, but since you just can't wash your hands of me..." Actually, wasn't it the other way around? Bruce paused before talking, taking a moment to think.

Like he was actually considering the big picture, or the feelings of the person he was talking to. Weird. "I'm trying to change, Jason. And that may not mean much today, but I'm trying. I've committed, I have Barbara looking up therapists-"

"What the-?"

"For _me_ ," Bruce emphasized, and Jason's fear abated. "I admit, I'm not looking forward to it, but if I'm asking you and Dick to reach out, I need to do the same."

The answer reactivated that strange, bittersweet swirling in Jason's gut, but he sneered all the same. "Aw, the all-powerful Brucie-Bat wants to save us." His scorn doubled when Bruce hurriedly looked around to see if anyone had heard those two names together.

But Bruce's next words surprised him. "Some people don't want to be saved. Because that takes courage, it means change. You have to face yourself in the mirror and let some things go. You have to decide not to be ruled by tragic events in your childhood."

"What are you saying?"

"You asked what I want from you. I'm trying to change, Jason." Bruce's blue eyes bored into Jason's, and he felt suddenly afraid, even more than that time with the crowbar. "I want you to try and do the same."

* * *

 _"Mr. Grayson..."_

Dick felt numb. His blood froze, the world spun, all the cliches.

But no earthly comparisons could accurately explain how he felt.

 _"He's just not responding..."_

And so he walked, one foot in front of the other, conscious while simultaneously not so. A paradox, a thing that should not be. Each step took him closer to the wall of doom and death that waited for him, when he would have to give voice to these things and make them real.

 _"Isn't there anything we can do?"_

Mistakes. The world was full of mistakes. Most of them his. Or at least, his were the ones that mattered right now. But he couldn't go back in the past and change things, couldn't go back and make it so he'd never... well, those were thoughts he should have had years ago.

 _"Can I see him?"_

This was what failure tasted like. Blood. Antiseptic. Sweat. Tears.

 _"There's nothing to do but wait, and hope."_

Dick turned the corner and stopped before the threshold of the waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to go in, but Barbara saw him and wheeled over.

"Hey, Hunk Wonder," she cheerfully greeted, and it struck something in Dick, pierced through the fog and numb haze.

"You seem happy..."

"I know," she shrugged. "It's been awhile." Content, maybe, was a better word, but it was all part of the same family. She smiled and seemed at ease, and knowing Barbara had been able to put even some of her burdens to the side brought a small light to Dick's heart. "What about you, Daddy-o? Any news?"

He could only gaze back, futilely forcing his face not to twist and screw into something horrible. All he had to do was hold it blank, emotionless, like Bruce always did. The bad things couldn't touch that man, didn't dare, because he didn't let them. Nothing hurt, and only when the birds left the safety of his cave could the world get at them. Dick was always the most arrogant of all, and now RJ was paying the price.

"Dick?" Barbara knew. He didn't have to say anything, didn't have to explain, but she just knew. He couldn't keep secrets from her. She saw through everything he was, every face he tried to present, always had. "Oh, no..."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered, though his heart told him it was just more excuses. "I swear, I didn't want this. I didn't..." He had to keep saying it, to convince himself.

Or maybe to remind himself of his crimes, because he _hadn't_ wanted this. And now Dick was getting what he wished for. "This isn't right, it's not fair, I didn't want to hurt anyone..."

"Tell me what happened," Barbara entreated, and she took his hand, but Dick didn't even feel it. He couldn't give words to what the doctors said. He couldn't give thought to anything else. There was just his empty shell being consumed by a brightly lit hospital corridor, and the black expanse of failure waiting for him to finally stop clinging to that lifeline of hope. "Dick? Talk to me."

"I can't," he whispered. Not about anything. Even though Barbara somehow knew everything he swore he'd keep hidden.

Then again, Dick swore a few other oaths in his life, all broken. Was he so surprised?

"Do you want me to get Bruce?" She was disappointed and relieved at the same time. Dick almost laughed at the familiarity. Barbara wanted to help him, wanted to be the one he confided in, but was also afraid that she'd have to face her own demons in the process. Change was hard. Acceptance even more so. Bridging the past and the future together, that was a task for the gods, and Barbara hadn't made it there, yet.

Dick thought he was good at that sort of thing, but now... "No, please... not yet." He swallowed. "Not yet..." They were all in the waiting room, caught up in their own conversations, but they'd soon see him standing there, soon rush over and demand answers, demand explanations, steal his space and his air. "I don't know what to say..."

Barbara squeezed his hand again, though it felt to Dick like she was a feather trying to weigh down a kite string. "We're going to get through this, Hunk Wonder. It's going to be okay."

"Is it?" Dick didn't see how. And what defined 'okay' anymore? "Babs, I don't think I can..." The things required of him, the things he promised to do, all were feeling so overwhelming, so hopeless. "It's not going to be okay. Not anymore."

And Babs fell quiet for a second. "Maybe not," she finally agreed. But her hand stayed wrapped around his. "But if I'm reading your subtext correctly, then it hasn't been okay since you were a little boy. And somehow, you soldiered on." She shifted her wheelchair a little, chasing his gaze until Dick was forced to give up and look at her. "So, either you're wrong, and things get better with time, or you can have a good life even when things aren't okay." She gave an encouraging smile. "Either way, the Dick Grayson I know doesn't give up."

His throat felt dry. "The Dick Grayson you know doesn't do a lot of things." And Barbara faltered.

But only for a second. "You can be a comedy or a tragedy, Dick. You told me that. Which one do you choose?"

"How about supernatural action/adventure?" A voice asked from over Dick's shoulder, and he froze at the sound. Barbara's eyes were bulging out of her head, and that was the only indication Dick had that he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

Because there was no reason he should be hearing that voice outside of dreams and memory.

Then again, with their lives... "Dick Grayson, as I live and breathe. It seems you've joined the parenthood club while I was away."

His breathing came fast, his heart pounded wildly. He turned around slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Just when the world seemed devoid of miracles, when it seemed the universe had abandoned them and took everything that gave them joy, just when it seemed like nothing would ever be okay ever again...

… the universe gave something back. "Anything else I should know about? Because I swear, if you finally had a wedding that was legal and nobody died, and _didn't invite me_..." And though the thought hit Dick like a punch in the gut, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Nope, another false alarm," he giggled, even though there was nothing to laugh about. Nothing at all. But he clutched his stomach and bit back howls at the reminder that _he almost married Catalina._ Barely coherent, she practically dragged him up the courthouse steps and if Gotham hadn't exploded into chaos he would finally be a husband now. To the woman he loved least and loved him the least of all. "You didn't miss a thing."

It was so messed up. He was so messed up. And yet, the idea of third time nearly being the charm was so absurd that he felt humor returning to his world. Painful, black humor, but it was there. He was messed up, but the world was still full of goodness and saving graces.

"As for my life, I think we're going with dramedy." Bitter, with a happy ending. There was still a chance for that. Still pain, still blackness, still things he couldn't put words to and tragedies still to be revealed. But hope. Hope, friends and miracles. Redeemed villains, lost wretches saved, whatever he qualified as. Barbara was right, there was still a chance for things to be okay.

He finally turned around and faced the newcomer, the woman so tall he'd always had to look up to find her eyes, the cascading black hair, the poise and confidence in her stance that could never be hidden. Maturity and youthfulness coexisting together, Dick's greatest critic and confidant, the best friend he'd loved and fought beside since he was a small boy first discovering what nightmares looked like in the waking world. How this happened wasn't important, only that it had. There was still something on the earth worth believing in. "Donna."

His friend, partner, living miracle, smiled back. "Wonder Twins, reunited."


	16. Chapter 16

Dick's emotions were at war whenever he looked at Donna. Flabbergasted incomprehension, horrified reverence at the flagrant disregard of nature, and wild, unfathomable joy. "You, uh... got better."

"Chicken noodle soup and bed rest. It's amazing, not like you'd know what taking care of yourself looked like." Donna Troy wasn't forthcoming with details on her apparent resurrection, not in such a public place, though if she'd been around for any of the earlier arguments she might have tossed that caution. The preservation of secret identities had been woefully neglected ever since they stepped in the hospital, even by Bruce. But as Dick had learned from years on the Teen Titans, with teammates who exercised less than half the caution he'd been raised with, nobody cared. People were generally more focused on their own lives, more afraid of their own secrets getting out than giving extended thoughts to snippets of a stranger's conversation. And even for acquaintances, no one expected their friends to be heroes, vigilantes, celebrities in disguise or engaged in some undercover espionage. Unless one went out of their way to make it obvious, it wasn't the logical jump for most people to make, assuming they even thought a stray clue something suspicious. Clark Kent had flat out told Lois Lane, the best reporter in the country, that he was Superman on several occasions, and she'd laughed it off as a joke, and Dick had always marveled how so many people bought that Kori was a mere supermodel with a strange tan job.

And it wasn't like Troia herself had ever worn a mask. But even if the hospital patrons weren't likely to overhear or take seriously what they said, even if that was a moot point after all the compromising things they'd _already_ said, Donna remained tight-lipped about the whole thing. Her new life came with heavy news, one that required the attention of Batman, Oracle and the rest of their gang. It was a discussion for a more private venue, but given the situation, she was willing to table it for a few hours. "It can't wait forever, though," she said seriously. "We've got a real crisis on our hands this time. Going to need every man, woman, robot and off-worlder we have..." she trailed off, suddenly distracted. "Is that...? Dick, is that _Robin_?" she whispered with wonder in her voice. And before he could answer, Donna had crossed the waiting room in a few quick strides. "Jason!"

Jason turned at the sound. "Wonder Chick?" Dick saw Bruce wincing, even though most people who heard that would just assume it was a joke between friends.

"Squirt, I haven't gone by that name for years."

"Keep calling me squirt and I'll remember the other name I used to call you." He refused Donna's attempt at a hug, but he wasn't entirely unhappy to see her. "Never thought I'd be back, did ya?"

"It is a bit of a surprise," she agreed. "But since we're all popping up like daisies these days, I guess it shouldn't be such a shock." Dick was now anxious to know whatever she did, or if he should expect Terra to walk through the door next.

It took a short time for everyone to react to seeing Donna alive, and for Jason to realize that she'd been dead, and that was enough for reality to settle back down on Dick. It was only a short reprieve, for he'd have to break the bad news sooner or later. Still, Jason was alive, Donna was alive, was it wrong for him to hope that if he just held on a little longer, fortune could swing his way, too?

Then again, how many times could fortune swing in a single night? How much hope did he even have in his reserves?

Bruce seemed to notice his mood and made his way over to Dick. He always knew when something was wrong. Rarely knew _what_ was wrong, and often chose not to do anything about it, but he always knew. When Nightwing had come over from Bludhaven to help with the gang wars, Batman took one look at him and said _"What's wrong with you?_ "

And then, _"Make sure it doesn't follow you here."_

"What is it?"

Dick felt his throat closing up, and the walls closing in. The numbness and cold that Donna's presence had briefly chased away was creeping back in, and he shook his head. "I'd rather tell you all at the same time."

Bruce didn't appear happy about that, but he didn't force the information from him. "Can I help?"

"I'm not sure anyone can." Which was as good as telling the whole story, really. After a second of silence, he conceded a little ground. "It gets better and then it crashes, over and over. Is it wrong..." He stopped, suddenly cold, because of course it was wrong. _He_ was wrong, but he'd already started the sentence, so he might as well finish. "...to be scared of hoping?"

Bruce reached out a hand, but then paused, and Dick felt that presence hovering just a few inches away. For once, Bruce didn't feel like Batman, cold and severe, harsh and unyielding, dark and perfect. He felt like a man, lost like himself, the man Dick used to think he knew as a little boy. And the small space between them, the endless chasm between Dick's shoulder and Bruce's hand was more painful for that change. Dick almost wished Bruce would be his frozen, unforgiving self, if he was just going to hold his comfort and salve at arm's length. Because if Dick had sunk so low, withdrawn so far, that the man he regarded as a second father was now too afraid or too disgusted to _touch_ him...

And then Bruce's fingertips made contact, dragging slow and hesitant against his arm. Not the firm hand that could convey everything or nothing as the situation required, communicating deep affection or detached acquaintanceship, but always full of authority. And not the crushing hugs he'd come to know when Bruce's emotions had been pushed so far past their breaking point that he couldn't hold it back, proof that Dick _meant_ something, that he inspired something that couldn't be contained and didn't need to be controlled, smothered and hidden away. This was different, fearful and vulnerable, loving...

… and equal. For a small minute, they were equals, two men standing in a hospital waiting room on even ground and Dick hated it. As always with Bruce, the timing was wrong. Years of wishing to be talked to without the condescension, the hierarchy and lack of power, the "my way or the highway" attitude, and the man chose to display it in the one moment that Dick wanted a daddy to swoop in and soothe his tears away.

But it was probably for the best. Bruce's fatherly behaviors usually came with a hefty dose of controlling and commandeering, which Dick wasn't in the mood to tolerate. So he leaned into Bruce's touch and accepted the companionship from someone just as lost as he was. He felt ready to break, but the hand was warm and tethered him to something at least, even if Bruce himself wasn't completely tied to the ground. It was better than nothing, and more than he deserved.

Dick held his peace until everyone was more or less assembled and listening to him. He didn't want to have to tell the same story twice.

Or at all. "Guys..." Wasn't he usually known for his chatter? Where were all his words now? "I have bad news..." Somehow, if he didn't speak it, it wasn't real.

But that was childish thinking. "RJ stopped responding to his meds. It's really bad. The doctors are trying everything the can, but nothing's working, nobody knows why." He forced his eyes to look at the space between everyone's faces, not sure if he could handle their looks of fear or condemnation. "Really sick. He might be... I don't know if he's going to pull through..."

"No!" The voice was Tim's wrenching Dick back from a detached reality where he only spoke words that had no meaning. The defiance startled him, threw him out of the brief control he clung to. He vaguely realized Bruce's hand was no longer at his arm, and somehow that equated to a weakness in his knees.

"Huh?" he breathed out, confused, barely there, not comprehending why he was being challenged on this.

But Tim carried on. "No, you're wrong!" He sounded angry, but his eyes were full of tears. His mouth was wrenched into some horrifically sad and traumatized expression. "No, he can't die! He can't, I'm not losing anybody else! I can't!"

"Tim..." That was Bruce. As shaky and hesitant as he'd been with Dick minutes before, and then he rallied as only the Batman could. "Tim." Now he was the paragon of authority Dick knew, the aura of pragmatic discipline flickering on the edge of his awareness. He felt himself floating away a little, allowing Bruce to take control and say words with no depth. Dick needed to be strong, and he wasn't. He was supposed to say things were going to be fine, there was still hope, he was all right, not broken, not secretly begging for something he couldn't even put words to. Because dads had all the answers and Dick was the cheerful one and Nightwing was supposed to be a professional.

"This isn't happening! Why? Why is it always us?" So many deaths. Some came back, some didn't, and all of them were Dick's fault one way or another, all were a tragedy... "Dick, tell me this isn't happening!"

"I..." He stared at Tim, taking in the tears and wailing without truly seeing or hearing him. How was he supposed to deal with this, when he couldn't even deal with himself? He had no control over anything, he couldn't just shut himself down or hide behind a smile, not anymore, he would shatter if he tried...

"Dick!" And then Tim's plaintive cry broke through his thoughts. "Dick, _tell me_ this isn't happening..." Helpless sobbing, it sent Dick crashing back to earth, pulled him down by the heartstrings. "I'm sorry, I can't..."

His feet moved without thought, seeing a brief second of clarity and seizing it. "I can't, either..." No fake smiles, no jokes to hide the pain or diffuse the tension. No shutting down thought and feeling just to shuffle through the motions of life.

"I can't, either..." he repeated. Then he wrapped his arms around Tim, Robin, the boy who came so close to being his brother. "So let's not." And he let himself cry.

* * *

Tim knew he shouldn't be acting like this. He was making a scene, he was being immature and childish. He was denying reality, and worst of all, making Dick comfort him when it should have been the other way around. "I'm sorry!"

"Shh, I know..."

"No, I shouldn't be, I mean, I'm supposed to..." but Tim trailed off, because whatever he was supposed to be doing, whatever control he was supposed to have, it was all gone. "I hate this! It's not fair!"

"It's really not." And that bitter chuckle in Dick's voice was galvanizing.

"God, Dick, sorry... You don't need this, you've got enough to deal with..." he pushed back from Dick, much as his heart protested, much as he couldn't even see with all the tears in his eyes. "Sorry, I'm fine now. I should be asking how you are, you don't need to-" But Dick seized his elbows and refused to let him go.

"Hey," he said, quietly. Entreating. Face still blurred by the tears Tim couldn't get a grip on, he couldn't see an expression. There was only a tired, raw voice to give a clue to Dick's mood. "Tim." And he waited.

Tim wobbled on his weak legs. It was all too much. "I'm sick of watching people die. Just standing there and seeing the mess. My whole life..."

"I know."

"Even your parents, I still remember..." Why was he even bringing that up? How insensitive could he be?

"It's okay, Tim." But it wasn't.

"Do I make this happen?" he whispered, aware that he was a little frenzied. Not rational. He was going to lose his grip on reality right there on the spot, just like Dana, they'd lock him away and Tim would never know the difference, left alone with ghosts and crime scene memories for company. "I'm the common denominator, it's my fault..."

"Oh, no. No, never," Dick soothed, slowly pulling Tim back in. "Don't think that. Never think that." Dick's hands running up and down his arms, rubbing and comforting like he was a small child. Big brother Nightwing, even though they were nothing to each other, not by blood, not by law. After the way they'd met, he was surprised Dick could bear to look at him. If Tim wasn't the Grim Reaper, he was at least a walking reminder of all the death and horror in the world, his presence never let anyone forget. He only could call these people friends because Jason died, was inseparably connected to Stephanie's memory, made too many bad decisions or didn't arrive at the rescue quickly enough...

"I'm sorry, it's my-"

"It's not," Dick said, firm enough that Tim snapped out of that line of thinking. But he still refused the embrace.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do," he revealed, never feeling more weak. His blurred vision focused on the ground, on a dark splotch that might have been Dick's shoes. "If RJ... I can't go through this again..."

"I don't know either." And that brought Tim back.

"You shouldn't be cheering me up. I should be-"

"I'm not cheering you up. Look at yourself, I'm failing miserably." Dick's bitter laugh was back. "And I guarantee, you won't cheer me up right now, no matter how hard you try. So don't." Tim's arms fell slack, only held up by Dick's soft grip on his elbows.

"I can't stop crying."

"Good. I want to cry." There was another tug on his arms, light, yet insistent. "Let's do that." And Tim slid into Dick's embrace. "They won't let me hug my kid. Be my stand-in?" With that, Tim gave back in to blubbering, and he thought he felt tears from above, from Dick.

"I don't want him to die!" Tim bawled, suddenly not caring if he looked like a child. "This whole thing sucks! It's not fair!"

"I know..." Tim wasn't sure exactly when the others dispersed, but when he finally came out of his little fit, they'd all hung back to the edges of the room, leaving he and Dick, clinging to each other and rocking in a slow, steady motion.

"I'm a mess," Tim murmured, face mashed into Dick's shoulder, and he felt more than heard the rumbling chuckle.

"Then we're a good pair." After a few minutes, Dick spoke again. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For caring," Dick said into his hair, voice thick and wet. "For hating this as much as I do."

"Well, yeah..." Tim clenched his eyes shut, for all it helped with anything. "He's my... you're..." What? Not family, not even neighbors anymore. "We're... what we are."

That got a laugh. "Yeah. What we are."

* * *

Jason was kind of grateful that the Replacement had his little breakdown, because it gave him a chance to try and figure out how he felt about this newest development. He wasn't the kind of guy to enjoy babies in trouble, or to feel indifferent about their possible demise, but he did still hate Dick, Bruce and the rest of the Bat-brigade. At least mostly. Then again, they were legally all family now, and some childish part of Jason felt that was supposed to mean something. Of course, his family experiences were pretty messed up before he'd gone chasing after his mom and gotten killed, so there was another part of him that hated RJ on principle of association.

It was a confusing time. "So..." He sat beside Donna Troy at the edge of the waiting room, looking for a distraction. "I'm suddenly feeling a lot less special."

"They don't keep me on the Wonder Team for nothing," Donna replied with a smirk. "But it's not a competition."

"You mean we don't get a trophy for this?"

"Just the standard participation medal. No perks for over achievers." Donna shook her head, dark curls splaying over her shoulders. "It's good to have you back, Jason."

"Maybe wait to say that until you have all the facts," he muttered, and Donna was quiet.

When she spoke, her voice was hard. "You were on our team. We trusted you with our lives. Whatever you end up doing in the future, it doesn't change the past, and I choose to honor that memory." Jason was touched, and then, "Of course, next time you hurt one of my friends I'll hunt you down and wedge your boots into your brain through your ear canal. With love."

"Got that healthy aggression under control, I see."

"You're not the first Titan to go rogue. We're a pretty forgiving bunch, but we're also immature, paranoid and routinely traumatized. Just a warning not to push your luck." And that was that. No lectures, no judgement, no more discussion about Red Hood or Batman.

"Understood." He lifted his legs and stretched them out, noticing that Dick was heading their way. "Where's Replacement?" he asked when Dick arrived.

"With Cass. And don't call him that." Dick made a face, before the muscles fell back into that worn, gallows look. "He's strong, he'll be fine."

Sure, whatever. "What about you?" Donna asked.

"I'm... ask me that if the fever ever breaks." He sat down beside Donna and she slipped her hand into his. Jason felt a pang of envy. None of his friends were that close with him. In fact, he wasn't sure he had any friends anymore. He hadn't interacted with a lot of the old crowd since coming back, but the Batman's welcome wasn't warm, they'd replaced his Robin role on the Teen Titans, and most people just seem to tolerate him like a puppy that might not be housebroken.

He suddenly wanted someone to be his best friend, like a whiny kindergarten kid alone on a playground. Jason banished that thought and look over at Dick. "There's nothing anyone can do?"

"Not that I can see," Dick said, sounding exhausted after his little cry fest, but back under control. "And since my dad didn't leave me a map to the Court of Miracles..." Donna squeezed Dick's hand, and Jason stared at the reference.

"Did you actually make it that far into the movie?" The Hunchback of Notre Dame had been a source of mild contention in their younger days. Dick was never effusive or eager to bond with Jason, but he occasionally made overtures, and movies were fairly neutral ground. They knew each other's movie preferences, and that one Disney movie was one Dick just couldn't touch. Despite a few efforts, he never made it past the opening number. "I thought you hated it."

"I don't hate it, the music's amazing. It just does things to me," Dick sighed. "But after you..." The three of them swallowed uncomfortably. "You loved that movie. And every time you invited me to watch it, I turned you down. We barely spent any time together as it was, and I felt bad..."

"You did?" Oh, crap. That conscience of Jason's was starting to prick.

"I thought watching something you loved so much would make me feel closer to you." Well, that was kind of touching. "It did, a bit. I must have watched it dozens of times... I should have given you that attention while you were alive..." He fell silent, and Jason did, too.

"I've never seen that movie," Donna commented to fill the void, and Dick gave a wan grin.

"No? There's dead parents, aloof mentors and mass-murdering of gypsies, it's a grand ol' time." Sarcastic as he was, there was no malice in his voice. "I wish we could have watched together, Jason. Maybe now..." his voice was tentative, a small offering.

Jason was still shocked. "You watched the whole movie?" Multiple times? Dick would watch horror movies with Barbara even though he finished in a cold sweat and jumped at shadows the rest of the evening. He made it through any number of sad movies, war movies, movies with any and all of his triggers, but he absolutely refused to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The few times he tried ended in under five minutes and usually with tears. He'd never read the book, either, as far as Jason knew. " _You?_ "

"It's heavy, I'm not going to lie. Even a Disney version. But I can see why you like it so much." Dick offered a smile. "If you wanted to... I mean, we haven't had a movie night in a long while..."

Jason felt his throat constricting, his face warming. But Dick was being sincere, and Jason had to be honest back. At least about this, he couldn't let the lie go this far. "It's not my favorite movie."

"What?"

"I just told you it was," Jason confessed. "Because I knew you'd leave me alone if I put it on."

Dick blinked. Very slowly. "But you'd beg me to watch it with you. You'd get the puppy dog eyes and whiny voice and everything."

"Well, that..." He knew Dick was a sap, but the idea of him sitting through a movie that affected him so emotionally, just to feel close to Jason after he died? That was... he didn't know, but something you didn't lie about. "I kind of just liked messing with you."

"Messing with me?"

"Yeah, 'cause you'd turn me down and then you'd feel bad and usually give me stuff or help me hide things from Bruce to make up for it..." Dick just stared, and Jason fidgeted. "I didn't know you were going to put it on loop the second I kicked the bucket." But wow, that must have been a steep depression Nightwing was under. Jason actually felt bad. Or important. "I was kinda immature back then..." Not that he was a shining example of maturity now. Wasn't he still trying to emotionally manipulate Bruce and the others?

All Jason's soapbox speeches and grand moral beliefs seemed very thin, all of a sudden. Looking at himself from the outside, he saw a child throwing tantrums. For a second, he wondered if he really was acting no better than the idiots he used to put in jail.

Dick, meanwhile, sat dangerously still. "So I turned myself into an emotional wreck over a movie that never meant anything to you?"

"Well, now it does," Jason offered, and that was the truth. He forced himself to meet Dick's eyes, whatever he found there. "I'm sorry."

But Dick was unreadable, and silent. Jason was silent right back, since he had nothing to say. Donna was trapped between the two of them and did her best to blend into the furniture.

"Accepted," Dick finally said. He slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms, grumbling something about little brothers and how he could have been an only child. But despite the words and the attitude, Jason found himself smiling.

* * *

Finally, after the latest rounds of what were proving to be futile attempts at life saving, RJ was wheeled back to his father, where Dick resumed his near-permanent vigil over his son. Bruce joined him, shoving out all of the others one by one. But if they couldn't comfort Dick, they would all have to band together and comfort each other, an equally daunting job.

Though the little baby hadn't been particularly mobile at three weeks, there was something about him now that seemed exhausted and drained, listless. Not a single wail, howl or even a whimper, just some coughs and the occasional rasp in his breath. Tubes and monitors covered his little frame, beneath the plastic box that warmed and kept him safe from whatever evil force hadn't already made it into his body. Bruce suddenly flashed back to the sight of Dick recovering from Two-Face and had to look away.

But Dick never looked away, barely blinked. Bruce wasn't sure he even recognized someone else was there. "Where's my tough little baby, huh? Screamed at me for over a week straight, and now you're just gonna give up? That's not like you." He trailed a finger against the plastic barrier. "You're freaking me out, kiddo, come on..."

"Dick..." Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, but he wasn't sure Dick noticed.

"I know what it's like to be in pain, baby," Dick said with a tenderness that struck Bruce. "So much that you think you can't go on, but you've got to, RJ. You've got to, because all this," he gestured at the tubes and machines, the hospital room at large, "It only happens once. And I know that doesn't mean much to you right now, all you can see is the pain and suffering, but..."

He trailed off for a bit, hanging his head, and Bruce wished to high heaven he knew what to say. Or do. He wished he knew how to reach Dick, deep in his core where the young man was obviously hiding something from him, wished he had the courage to push through like a father should have been able to. He wished he knew his son well enough to proceed confidently, instead of wondering if he'd ever known anything at all.

When Dick lifted up his head again, his eyes were sparkling with tears. But he was smiling. Bruce actually stepped back in surprise. "It's so beautiful, RJ. This moment with you and me, together, you being alive on the earth, it's so beautiful. And once you go, it's just gone, and even if there's an afterlife, it'll never be like this." He gave a bitter laugh. "And yeah, I get you don't want it to be like this, but that's just how you see it now. You don't see all the good things. Someday you'll look back at today and wish it could last longer."

Bruce honestly had no idea what Dick was talking about. Maybe he was rambling, maybe losing his mind, who knew. But he didn't dare interrupt the spell that was being cast, or risk shaking Dick out of the state where he was open and honest and talking about how he felt. So he just kept that grip on Dick's shoulder and held on, willing RJ to live for the sake of all of them.

"Remember weird Uncle Jason shooting up the couch at the clinic?" Dick asked, and Bruce mentally filed away a note to berate Jason for that. "And Uncle Timmy? He bought you so many nice clothes, and the two of them read you stories, remember that? And Cassandra, she played with you and rocked you to sleep, and Alfred was so nice to you. And Babs, don't forget Babs, because come Hell or high water, she's going to be your stepmom." Dick grimaced. "Or maybe not, but she's special, and she came all the way from Metropolis to hold our hands, even though she's kind of mad at Daddy right now..." He broke off, suddenly choked up.

Bruce was, too. He swiped at his eyes to destroy the evidence while Dick continued. "Babs came back for you," he said in an awed whisper. "Jason's here, just because of you. Tim and Cass came back to Gotham, Bruce is here." A slight incline of Dick's head proved he hadn't completely lost track of his surroundings. "Everyone came together for you, and you even got to meet Donna. One of Daddy's best friends, you got to see her, that's so special." And now Dick was smiling openly. "Remember how Grandpa Bruce drove us to the hospital like a crazy man, and Cass made funny faces? And Tim tried to make everyone feel better, and Alfred changed your diapers, and Jason and Barbara kept Daddy from having mental breakdowns in front of all the other babies? 'Cause that would have been so embarrassing for you..."

It was a strange thing to laugh at, but Dick did, they both did, even if Bruce wasn't sure why. "These are the good moments, RJ. Even if you can't see it right now, they are, and one day they'll be gone. And I don't want you to get somewhere and regret that you didn't stick around for as long as you could. Because you will, kiddo, when you're as old as me, you'll miss all the stuff that came before..."

Bruce reached down with his other hand, grabbing Dick's other shoulder an bracing, not trusting his voice to say anything contributory. He couldn't speak, couldn't do anything except hold on, this fragile grip on his son the only tangible thing in the universe. And when had Dick become so strong, even in his weakness, so full of wisdom?

"You'll look back and wish you could have even one more day, one more hour," Dick continued, seemingly oblivious to Bruce. "It won't matter how much it hurt, you'll give anything to go back, because it was real and beautiful and you'll start to forget everything else. You and me, right now, we're hurting together and it sucks but it's also amazing and I've never loved anything so much. And one day this moment's just going to be a memory."

Dick's hands slowly reached up, and softly, solemnly, curled around the fingers that were gripping into his shoulders. And they held on to each other like that for several minutes. Facing the death of yet another family member, watching the suffering of those he loved and being able to do nothing, it was a devastation that almost brought Bruce to his knees. And also, one of the most intimate experiences he'd ever had.

"These are the good moments, RJ," Dick repeated. "The best moments. Don't give up on them just yet."

There was no way of knowing if the baby understood or felt inclined to take his advice. No way of knowing what fate had in store or how far it intended to drag them through this wasteland of the soul. But there was nothing for father and son to do but hold each other, watch over each other, and wait... and hope.


	17. Chapter 17

Cassandra couldn't remember being helpless. Not like this, anyway, not like a baby. She'd certainly had experiences where she wasn't strong enough, few and far between as the were, and there had been a time where Lady Shiva herself had Cassandra completely at her mercy. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but there was a difference between being overpowered and being helpless.

A baby was helpless. Vulnerable. It never had a shred of power to begin with, so when darker forces came to attack, there was nothing it could do, even if it perceived the situation around it. And so the people around it rushed to protect it, the people with strength, giving of their skills to help the small. Someone must have done that for her, once. Perhaps not out of love, in the case of her father, but she could not have survived if someone hadn't fed her, cleaned her and protected her from the elements.

In just the day or two she'd known RJ, Cassandra's world had expanded to include new possibilities, new realizations on the nature of family and strength. She thought of love and bringing children into the world as things she could do, things that could take place in her future. Like they'd been in Stephanie's life, and now Dick's, Cassandra had a right to those things, too. Life didn't have to be limited because of the mask she wore, or the way she was raised.

But all of those realizations couldn't translate into power. Her mind had been opened, perhaps, but her body was still helpless and RJ was very, very sick. And as all the people of strength scrambled to lend their skills, Cassandra faded into the dark corners, where vigilantes felt safe. For the first time she could remember, she was truly helpless. Infantile.

And while some of their group hoped or prayed for miracles, Cassandra cast her eyes over the rest of the hospital. Over Jason and Donna who shouldn't be alive. Over hallways where haggard doctors walked and corridors where Victor Fries may have once stepped. Over psychologists and therapists that were one destructive relationship away from being Harley Quinn, over street thugs and gang-bangers huddled in chairs as if their knives, glocks and tattoos could save anything. Out windows that reflected a city whose progress was choking life out of the greenery that Poison Ivy so loved.

She wrapped her arms around herself and wished that David Cain could have molded her into a weapon that fought sickness. It seemed Gotham needed that more than it needed Batgirl.

* * *

Donna Troy was familiar with keeping a parental vigil over a sick child. People frequently forgot that, given her membership in the _Teen_ Titans, but the roles of wife and mother were ones she knew intimately. And she hoped that was a comfort to Dick, to know he wasn't the first person to do this, and that people understood.

She hoped, but she couldn't fully balance out reality. And as high as Dick's happy moments rose, his low moments sank straight to the core of the earth. Without telling her any details, she knew that Dick blamed himself for everything, that there was no love lost between himself and the yet undisclosed mother, and that Dick may have possibly deserved to be fired from the Bludhaven police force. Among other suspicions. Dick could lock down their superhero lives, but he was otherwise lousy at keeping secrets.

And Donna wasn't sure she had the time to pry them out, or to sit at his side and be a friend. Even as she wrapped her arm around those too-thin shoulders, her conscience kept reminding her about the world waiting in the wings. She was supposed to be bringing Batman and Oracle up to speed on recent developments, get Nightwing and Robin back to help the Teen Titans, and so many other puzzle pieces to fit into place. The world was facing a crisis, reality as they new it was expanding, and it would take everything they had to save the day. If she ignored that to focus on Dick, neither they nor the world would be alive to face many tomorrows, but if she left Dick to preserve the world and it's future, she might return to find that Dick wasn't living in it.

She'd like to have more faith in her friend, but he'd endured so much in his life already. She didn't want to risk him hitting his limit without her.

Though the buzz from the others suggested that Dick had already crossed some of those lines months ago. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this," Dick repeated every so often. "I always dreamed of having a family. It was going to be perfect."

"Nothing's ever perfect," Donna replied, for all Dick cared.

"Isn't it our job to make things perfect for them?" Donna just kissed his cheek and said nothing. She was the wrong person to ask.

* * *

Dr. Leslie Thompkins was in the habit of leaving her phone on speaker while she worked, and that habit hadn't died just because the technology had been downgraded. The reception and audio quality on her little phone, in her little village in Africa, was quite poor, but it was enough for her needs.

Still, when she heard the voice on the other end of the line, she thought the static must be playing trick on her.

"Dick Grayson?"

"Hi, Dr. Thompkins..." She was stunned, and fell back into her chair, not comprehending how this phone call could be. After Batman had showed up to say his final words, she didn't expect anyone from Gotham to contact her again. She was a little surprised Bruce had given the others any information on where she was.

Or perhaps, those junior members had resources of their own. "Why are you calling me, Dick?"

"I just wanted to talk..." Through the static, the pain came through. "I don't know what to do..."

Despite what others may have thought, despite the anger Leslie felt towards Batman, she still cared. "What's happened?"

"I... I killed someone." She felt her blood run cold. This was everything she wanted to prevent, everything she feared for Bruce and all the children whose lives he conscripted into service. "Please, help me..."

"What do you think I can do?" She rubbed her temple, feeling older than ever before. So, it hadn't changed anything at all. The death of Stephanie Brown hadn't been a wake-up call to Batman, or any of them. The city hadn't changed, the children were still dying, still killing off their own souls. No, the only chance she'd ever had to make a change was to refuse to help Bruce at the outset. Or, failing that, to have held to her principles and drawn the line at Dick Grayson. Thrown down the ultimatum, perhaps left the country with him, and taking the idea of child soldiers with her.

"Leslie... you... you thought you were doing what was right, didn't you? When you let Stephanie die?" At Dick's words, her jaw set. What if all her actions had the opposite effect? What if, rather than guilt all Gotham about what they'd allowed to happen, she'd made it acceptable to kill? To use children as sacrifices? "How do you find your way back...?"

"What do you mean?"

The answer was so heartbreaking. Dick sounded like the little boy she'd first met, straight out of the circus. "I'm so lost, Leslie. I don't know how to make this right again... I can't tell Bruce, he'll never understand... but you..." She could. Because she'd killed, too. Except...

But how could she tell him that, now? "Dick, whatever happened, it is not your fault." She knew this, even without the details. "You're not a killer. And you'd have never been in that position if Bruce hadn't thrown you out the window every night since you were a child."

"It's not Bruce's fault..."

"Listen," Leslie said, "Out here, there's _real_ corruption. Real wars. I've seen children trained as soldiers, the men who trick them into the work and the ways they keep them there. Bruce is only a few steps down, and the principle is the same. You need to break free, Dick. Get out."

Dick began to protest, and while Leslie tried to argue, she heard another voice break into the conversation.

"Hey, Dr. T, I've got a question-" _Stephanie..._ "Oh, sorry! I didn't realize you were on a call..."

But that small interruption was enough. Dick was silent on the other end of the line, until, finally, "..Stephanie?"

In turn, Stephanie wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Nightwing? What are you doing, oh!" She abruptly remembered she was supposed to be dead. "Uh, _no habla_ English!"

Leslie put her head in her hands, while Dick put the clues together. "You didn't..."

"No." Stephanie had always been alive. Leslie would have done anything to stop the gang war, but she wasn't a monster.

"You let us believe she was dead."

"Oh, like you cared," Stephanie jumped back in to the conversation, but her words lacked the venom they might have had months ago. "I was never really Robin anyway, not to him."

Dick didn't answer. He just cried. Stephanie looked uncomfortable.

"Look, sorry. If I could have told all you guys without telling the big man, I would."

"You're alive," Dick finally answered. "Everyone's alive. Donna, Jason..."

"Jason?" Stephanie asked. "That the dead Robin? The other dead Robin, I mean..."

"This is wonderful." After a few seconds, Stephanie squirmed.

"Well, sure, I guess. Uh..." She shrugged. "How you all been?"

Dick laughed. "Oh, where to begin?" He trailed off for a bit, then suddenly blurted out, "I had a baby."

"You what?" Stephanie squealed, running up to the edge of the speaker phone. Leslie followed, just as stunned.

"When was this?" And even though she'd burned bridges with the Wayne family and the Batman's circle, she still felt hurt not to know. "Dick?"

"Details, details! Boy or girl?"

"A boy," Dick replied, voice still wet. "A baby boy, he's not quite a month old, beautiful, looks like my dad... You know, this is the first time I've been able to give a happy announcement..."

"Oh my gosh, little baby Nightwing!" Stephanie practically wriggled with excitement. "I bet he's so cute! I want to see him!"

Leslie, too, wished for this, though she knew she could never step foot back in Gotham. Bruce told her as much, and even if Stephanie revealed herself to be alive, Leslie doubted the Bat would forgive so easily. "Should I be giving my congratulations to Barbara?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that? No..." Dick gave a wistful sigh. "No, that's another story."

Meanwhile, for Stephanie, all previous grievances against Batman and cohorts were forgotten. "This is the coolest thing ever! Can he somersault yet? 'Cause I think a Nightwing baby should start doing that early. What's his name? Are you married? Is it that alien girl? Does the baby have superpowers?"

"No, hundred percent human," Dick laughed. "And no somersaults yet, give him time to figure out crawling first." Leslie had been smiling, despite herself, picturing this image. She almost forgot the murder confession the phone call had started with. Little Dickie, all grown up with a child of his own, even among the horrors of Gotham and the nightmares his own mentor put him through. Perhaps there was hope for the city, for all the children in it?

And then, Dick brought the conversation back down again. "Actually, he's really sick... he might not... we're in the hospital, now."

"Sick?" Leslie felt the doom sinking back into her bones, and Stephanie looked horrified. "What do you mean?"

"He, um, had a tumor, pancreoblastoma, I... it was killing him, he coughed up blood, we had to remove it..." His voice was pained and tight, and Leslie felt her heart twinge right along with the boy. "But the surgery... he's so young, it was risky, and now he's... he can barely breathe, I'm scared he's just gonna stop..."

Was this what Dick meant by killing someone? It would be like him, to accept responsibility for something he couldn't control, and hadn't even happened yet. "It's not your fault, Dick," Leslie tried to reassure, and Stephanie backed her up with no prodding.

"Yeah, it's gonna be all right! I'm sure of it!" They continued for a bit, until Dick paused and fell silent for a long moment.

Leslie and Stephanie shared worried looks, and then Dick's voice returned. "I have to go."

"Wait! Don't hang up!" Stephanie cried. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." His voice sounded nervous. Afraid. Not like Dick at all. "...Tim and Cass are here. Do you...?" Stephanie went still. "Do you want to talk to them? They can fill you in... ...They miss you," he added, when there was no immediate answer.

Leslie looked to Stephanie, seeing the girl tremble with the weight of the decision. Finally, a whisper, "You won't tell Bruce?" Leslie would have thought loyalty would have commanded Dick's choice in this matter, but he finally replied that he wouldn't, he would leave that up to Stephanie. The Doctor could have pointed out that this only held true for Dick, and Tim or Cassandra's feelings might turn out to be very different, but she held her tongue. The whole deception was coming undone around her, but she didn't feel as threatened by that as she thought she might, even knowing the rage Bruce would feel at being tricked.

No, she almost felt... relieved.

"Dick," she called out, pushing Stephanie aside for a moment. "The first question you called about, how to come back..." she paused for a minute, then said confidently, "Tell the truth. Put everything out in the open and own up to what you did. And what you didn't do. It's the secrets that kill us."

"The truth will set you free, huh?"

"Something like that." And then she heard only the vacum of the empty telephone. She didn't know Dick's true problems, or if he'd take her advice. But this was all she had to give. By her own actions, unable to see so far into the future, this was all she had to give. She regretted it.

Maybe she could learn from it. "...Thanks, Leslie," Dick finally said. "Here's Tim." And there was some static and clunking as the phone changed over.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Leslie smiled, and slowly exited the room. This was a conversation that would flow better without her presence. She slipped out the door, hearing Stephanie's shaky voice echoing behind her. "Hey, Tim."

From outside, she might have heard Tim shrieking high enough to shatter glass, but it also could have been the wind.

* * *

RJ died at 2:15 in the morning. The Bat-Clan was expertly organized to deal with the fallout. Donna was a little disgusted that they were, that people had to be assigned to duties like 'comfort', but it was effective. Barbara called shots from her laptop as if she were Oracle, Alfred took a sullen Jason and near-hysterical Tim under his wing, Cassandra bullied Bruce completely out of sight before he could throw a tantrum and sue the hospital, something about a fifteen minute rule.

And Donna was assigned to Dick. She resented that it was an assignment, resented all of this. "You know," she told Barbara upon receiving her 'orders', "Most people don't put together a military plan for stuff like this. They just hold each other." And shouldn't Babs be right at Dick's side, whether or not they were still dating, who could keep track, but as friends? Why was she ordering people around like she was away in her little clocktower? "You're acting like this is some massive Red Cross relief project you have to organize, when it's just a few friends who need hugs."

Barbara hit a key, then shut the lid of her laptop. "The world's about to end, isn't it?" She didn't wait for confirmation. Of course Barbara would be in the loop on this. "It's always something. That's the position I'm in, there's always going to be someone bigger and more important than me. And it's not a pity party, this is true for all of us. Dick, too." She sighed. "Sooner or later, we're going to have to go save the world whether he's ready or not."

Donna had been thinking the same thing, but still. She argued, "But you have right now."

"And this is what I'm doing," Barbara said, and opened her laptop again. "Making sure everyone is taken care of is what I do best." There was silence while Donna fumed, and then Barbara continued in a quiet voice, "You're the twin sister of Wonder Woman. You don't know what it's like to be-"

"What, Barbara?" This really would be the last straw. "Everyone says that, like beauty or strength or success excludes us from being human! You've never had kids, but I don't automatically assume you're incapable of understanding anything about me!"

That did stop Barbara for a minute. Then she said, "When Dick says he loves me, sometimes he's really just brainwashed by Brother Blood and planning to marry Starfire. And when Bruce says this chair isn't something to be ashamed of, that I did great things as Batgirl and will do more in the future, and there's no reason I should feel inferior, I know he doesn't mean it. Because even as I was starting my career as Oracle, he was trying to convince the world that he didn't have a broken back, and nearly killed himself trying to heal, because life where he couldn't be Batman had no meaning. I need something, and suddenly one of the Robins is dead, Dad's shot, Blockbuster's attacking the clocktower, Gotham's under gang rule. It's always something." She looked up with tired eyes. "I've gotten used to it. Handling everyone else's problems is something I can do. And yes, I've started to crack under that pressure, but I'm not down yet. This is how I feel powerful."

Donna did understand that. "Better than waiting on the side for someone to save you, huh?"

"Exactly," Barbara smiled. "And I've let it drag on too long. I used it as a crutch." She winced. "Ugh, that's a Grayson joke, isn't it?" Donna laughed, and Barbara continued, "But I know I've shoved too many things aside until I'm as emotionally out of touch as Bruce. You're right. But," she sighed, and suddenly looked so weary. "Once again, the crisis is bigger than me. I don't know what to do, but make sure everyone else is taken care of. I literally _do not know what to do,_ Donna."

And in that moment, Donna saw Barbara in a different light. "Well, it starts by putting the laptop away," she said gently, "And following me."

Barbara obeyed, but bit her lip in a very childish way. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't talk." And she wheeled Barbara over to Dick. They didn't say anything profound, just held him, comforted him, bolstered him and cried with him. All the while, Donna ignored the small voice in her head screaming about the fate of the world. If she didn't get back to work, there would be a lot more dead children and crying parents littering the planet, but at the moment, this pair seemed to be the only one that mattered.

Before long, Bruce came back, much calmer. And what a relief that was, because Dick was starting to work himself up into hysterics. "It's all my fault!" he wailed. "I'm responsible for all of it! I shouldn't have let them do the surgery, I should have waited, I should have done more research!"

"Dick," Bruce took the young man in his arms before he could blame himself any further. "I know you did all you could."

"But I-"

"You made the best decision with the knowledge you had," the man insisted. "That's what I would have done. It's all anyone can do."

That calmed Dick, but only for a second. "But it wasn't enough!" he insisted, and threw himself at Bruce's chest. He allowed himself to be held close as he gave in to sobs, and neither Bruce, Barbara nor Donna could think of anything to counteract it.

But eventually Dick did calm down into a passive, slightly dazed melancholy. Donna wasn't sure if that was any better. But he wasn't Nightwing now, not Robin the Fearless Leader, but a mere man. A small, mortal man who grieved and faltered and even failed. Donna spent most of her time with Nightwing, but she loved ordinary Dick Grayson best. Especially in recent years, as that identity started to have an actual life associated with it.

"Keep him out of the costume," she said to Barbara, since she seemed to be itching to take charge of things. "It's the last thing he needs." Disassociating or filtering things through the mask wouldn't help matters, as she'd seen played over and over with various teammates. And Dick, whose costume itself was tied up in Daddy issues and emotional baggage, wouldn't find any peace there.

Barbara agreed with her. "He should have been taken off duty a long time ago." A lot had happened while Donna was away. Things she still wasn't privy to. But she knew Batman and his allies well enough to know that they could all have their heads stuck in a metaphorical gas oven and still order themselves and each other into the next battle. In their minds, someone had to, and heaven forbid they let another person have responsibility.

But Donna couldn't call Barbara out on that, not when they both knew that this time, everyone really was needed. There was only so much allowance they could give for personal issues, and it felt like some horrible bike race where the repairs just had to be good enough to get you to the finish line. And there was always another lap, and another, and another...

And she was the one waving the flag for the next one.

Eventually, there was no more reason to stay at the hospital. They solemnly filed out of the building, into cabs or whatever vehicles they'd arrived in, to make the trek to Wayne Manor. The emotion had all been distilled into a brooding silence, and no one spoke a word until they reached the garage inside the large mansion.

Bruce exited the car, walked a few steps, then stopped. He turned to Alfred, and to Donna, slightly behind him.

"I never got to hold my grandson."


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey, guess who's not dead? She-of-the-ridiculously-long-updates returns... and about time, because this is the homestretch.**

* * *

It only took Dick two hours to decide to wander upstairs and start depleting Bruce's liquor cabinet. Not his best display of decision making. Of course, he didn't need alcohol to obscure his judgement, or to fall into a near-catatonic stupor. He'd proved that with Catalina. Getting blackout drunk was just his natural failure in action, but with benefits.

Bruce didn't think so. He had the disappointed look in his eye when he found Dick sprawled out in the study. And the lecture voice. He took away the bottle, too.

But there were other sources of sense numbing beverages, and Dick was experienced in sneaking out of the house, so he clumsily climbed out his window and began a trek to the nearest bar. On foot, of course. No driving. He wasn't that kind of murderer. Even if it was a long way down off of Crest Hill into downtown Gotham, Dick was prepared to walk. In fact, he looked forward to the solitude.

He put one foot in front of the other, trying to stay on the side of the road, but he giggled every time he caught himself drifting towards the middle. It was nice to be alone, about to actually enjoy himself, and only responsible for keeping himself out of the path of the occasional oncoming car. Easy enough to handle.

How life got so complicated, he couldn't remember. He needed to uncomplicate life again. Go back to those times where he only worried about avoiding his bedtime and flying through the air. There was always time to play, always time to nap if he good and felt like it, and days didn't feel stretched at the corners. There was never a fear of falling, for his parents always caught him. He hadn't appreciated how valuable that was, not until the tornado of his life was spinning too fast to ever escape from.

"Grayson." He was surprised to hear his name, and yet, not surprised as well. He was never truly alone, never really able to escape his problems. Dick looked behind him, to his sides, in front, but saw no sign of the man who'd snuck up on him. Typical, really. He stumbled around, even looked tentatively above him, but finally gave up.

"Hey, Slade." There was the sound of a twig cracking, and Dick wheeled around to face Deathstroke the Terminator. Dick was a little surprised it took him this long to track him down. "How you been?"

Dick thought his speech was very smooth and coherent, given how much alcohol he'd consumed back at the mansion, but maybe that was only in his mind, since Slade was staring openly at him. He even pulled back the mask a bit to gape more conveniently. Finally, his eyebrows narrowed and he growled, "I don't believe this."

"You're mad," Dick grinned, leaning back against a tree. His legs weren't cooperating so well with his efforts to stand up straight. "How's Rose?"

Slade's eye twitched, and Dick stifled a giggle. Rose was a good girl, not like her father. She'd turn out well with a few good influences, and now she knew where to look for them. A good role model, or a bad one, could change everything, and Dick knew that better than anyone. He'd left his role model, after all, and look how he'd turned out. Ravager would have a rocky start, but she wouldn't end up like Nightwing.

He hoped. Maybe he wasn't such a great influence after all. Maybe RJ had the right idea, giving up on him early. Dick slid down the tree trunk to sit on the ground. But he wasn't like Slade, never like him. Slade gave his baby cancer on _purpose_. "You here to get back at me?" He'd pretended he'd given up on heroism. It was only partially an act. But Slade was always game to make a complicated situation more complicated, and blackmailed him into training his daughter to be a supervillain.

And Nightwing turned her into a hero. Or at least an anti-hero. Slade had to be furious. Dick couldn't take pride in the act, since a league of reformed villains wouldn't make up for all the things he'd done, but ticking off Slade Wilson? Oh, that felt like a bottle of scotch, straight to his brain. "Here to rough me up? Take revenge on the hero who duped you?"

"You give yourself too much credit, Grayson." And still, Slade looked fit to boil. Dick gave a dark chuckle and closed his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head against the tree bark. He always gave himself too much credit. Too cocky, too naive, too reckless. That was how he kept getting into messes like this. He knew he needed to be more careful, but it never changed his behavior. He knew the dangers, the predators, his weaknesses, but he never thought to create a safety net. No, Dick Grayson flew without a net, even when other people were depending on him.

"Meeting like this, it's too direct for you," Dick drawled, still with his eyes closed. He leaned his head back further, baring his neck. "Remember that time I was in the shower? You wrote a message in the steam? Classic Deathstroke. Real pervy." His tongue felt a little slow and lazy. He hoped the words were coming out coherent. They seemed to be, but it could all a mess. "I'm super drunk."

"I can see that." Was Slade amused now? Or still furious? Either way, it worked for Dick.

"Yup. Totally drunk. Can barely defend myself. That why you're here? Finally get to see what's under the short pants?" He'd been warned about those. Never mind it was the same thing the rest of the circus was wearing, what athletes wore, never mind they'd been his work clothes since he was five, never mind that the girl heroes wore the same thing, never mind that it didn't matter what he wore, some things were still illegal.

He should have listened. "You gonna deny it now? When I'm sloshed and there's no one around for a good mile?" He gestured with his hand, but with more effort than his muscles were willing to put up with, so the weight of his arm pulled him over as it fell to the dirt. He wiggled around for a few seconds, a leaf sticking to his face, until he was sprawled on his back, looking up at a stone-faced Slade.

The man didn't say a word. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

Dick grew angry. "I forgot. You only like 'em when they're kids."

He very quickly found a boot pressed against his neck, and then the edges of a white goatee so close to his face that it almost scraped the skin. "I could kill you right now, and there wouldn't even be a point!" the man sneered. "You wouldn't care at all."

"Nope," Dick smacked his lips, relishing the little dilation of Slade's eyes. "Can't touch me. But I dare you to try." The pressure on his neck increased just slightly before Slade stepped away. In the background, Dick heard a vehicle coming down the road. His training with Batman made him able to identify the sound, even in his addled state. A motorcycle. Maybe Slade was just waiting for it to pass. No witnesses.

Dick grew bored with the waiting. "What? Too old? Or too willing?" He felt the kick to his ribs before he registered that Slade was moving.

"Too pathetic," was the reply. Dick just laughed. The motorcycle in the background grew closer. Such a smooth ride, he felt a little envious. Dick could appreciate a good bike, and that engine practically purred. He'd stop the driver and offer to buy it, if he wasn't too inebriated to stand. Or drive it home.

Well, he didn't need a bike, anyway. What was he going to do with it, anyway? Riding meant having to be sober, which meant he had to feel and think. No, better to settle on the ground and wait for Slade to get around to whatever he came here to do. A beat down would feel nice. "What are you waiting for?"

And then the motorcycle stopped. "We having a party over here?" Jason? Dick craned his neck, but couldn't lift his head enough to see more than a blurry outline of boots.

Slade sounded neither concerned nor impressed. "This doesn't concern you. Move along."

"Deathstroke the Terminator. How's an old fart like you still alive?" Oh, Dick felt Slade's indignation without even having to look.

The gravel scraped as the man turned to face Jason. "And who are y-" The words caught in his throat. "I don't believe it. Robin."

Jason snorted. "Hardly." But still, Slade remained shocked.

"I heard you were dead."

"I heard you mutilated another one of your kids. Turns out you can believe the rumor mill." Dick thought they would break out into a fight right there, but apparently Slade was intimidated enough by people returning from the grave enough to forego, and Jason wasn't suicidal enough to poke that metahuman bear. "It's late, and I hear the Bat is really protective of this part of town. Why don't you move along." Patronizing, but Slade didn't say anything about it. Dick felt a little disappointed. But maybe Jason would go drinking with him once the man left. He needed a ride into town.

"You might not care about yourself, Grayson, but no matter," Slade growled. "I know just how to break you, and when the time is right, I will."

"Ooh, threats," Dick sighed, allowing an indulgent smile to cross his face. "You're just jealous you're not my best villain anymore." He shifted his legs a little, provocatively, and waited.

Slade turned and left. But not without a parting shot. "If you're that desperate to make a fool of yourself, try this routine on Wayne. I hear he likes them drunk and brainless."

"Whereas you like 'em twelve and impressionable," Dick shot back, but Slade had already left by then, and he was left mumbling in the dirt. He felt it shift a little as Jason crouched beside him, and Dick rolled over a little to get a better view. "What are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you. You and half the liquor cabinet disappeared. Bruce is frantic." Jason propped his arms on his knees, looking severe. "We checked the pool first. I don't know if he was more afraid or relived not to find you."

"Disappointed, probably." Dick yawned. He was exhausted. Walking all the way down from the house had taken a lot out of him. But he didn't want to sleep. He might dream. He might wake up sober. "Wanna go out? Hit the bar?"

"I think you've had enough. It's a miracle you're still talking."

Now Dick grinned. "Bat-practice! Gotta build up immunity!" Good old Bruce. Good, old, paranoid Bruce.

Jason pressed his lips together. "Wow. You weren't even of age when he started that regime, were you?" Not even close. Dick could drink Oliver Queen under the table at seventeen, not that he went around announcing the fact. He'd been dosed with Scarecrow's fear toxins and Ivy's aphrodisiacs since he was twelve, a fact that probably contributed to his teenaged anxiety issues and his somewhat infamous sexual awakening. And when it came to Speedy, well, Dick sometimes felt that he had no right to comment in that department. His training could have easily led him down a similar path.

But Bruce was more careful with Jason. Because Bruce wanted to get it right the second time around, he wanted to get it right with his son. Jason probably died before having touched alcohol, at least that which Bruce knew about. They'd waited on the poisons and toxins until Jason was a bit older, too. And for all Jason complained about how much pressure he had as Dick's replacement, he hadn't lived long enough to feel what the years upon years of that lifestyle did to a person. Dick started a bit younger than Jason, and by the time he was in Junior High he was already nicking extra painkillers from the supply cabinet to hide injuries at school. Jason didn't know what it was like to be staring down college entrance exams, and battling the temptation to start taking stimulants just to get everything done. Because Bruce would flay him for it, sure, but not measuring up to his impossibly high standards was equally as offensive. Jason had a few years, Dick had nearly a decade as Robin. He'd been Robin with college classes, with a commute.

So if he ended up as a washed up drunk on the side of the road, was anybody surprised? The real shock was that it took his so long to end up here.

"Bruce has new Robins, now," Dick mumbled, and let his eyes fall on Jason's motorcycle. Beautiful thing. Good make. It would last for years before age wore it down. Then it would eventually be replaced by the newer models, and someone would buy the used bike for cheap. They'd enjoy it for a few more years, until they could afford to get the kind of bike they _really_ wanted, and the old motorcycle would be sold for even cheaper. Used and used until it was worn into the ground. Until it's only worth was scrap metal.

Jason grabbed Dick's arms and started hauling him to his feet. "Come on. I've lost enough sleep over this. Time to go home."

Dick complied as best he could, but still stumbled a little. "You go. I'm going to town. I wanna get laid."

Jason almost dropped him. "You know what? Never talk to me again, ever. No sound out of you for the rest of the trip home." Since Dick had no reason to argue, and was yawning too much anyway, he went along. Jason led him over to his motorcycle and helped Dick on, then dragged Dick's arms around his waist. "I swear, if you let go and fall off, I'm not picking you back up."

But despite Dick's growing drowsiness, they did make it back to the manor, where Dick rolled into his old bed before Bruce or Alfred could interrogate him.

* * *

Nothing rattled the Red Hood. Or at least, that was the image Jason liked to cultivate. And since it was easier than believing that innocent, little Jason could shoot someone's brains out without any hesitation or remorse, Bruce bought into the lie. So when Jason brought Dick home and began stammering with pale, clammy skin, Bruce took it seriously.

"He was baiting Deathstroke, B! To, like, I can't even..." For a minute, Jason was just a boy, his boy, not the tough, hardened vigilante. "But Deathstroke threatened him, don't know what about, it was really vague. But Dick wanted him to... He's got problems, okay? He's messed up!"

"I know. And we'll help him," Bruce promised. He put a hand on Jason's shoulder, and the young man spun towards him with blazing eyes, shades of the Red Hood back in his face.

"Really? You sure, Bruce? Because that's not what I see!" Without that helmet, or even the mask, Bruce could see Jason's eyes. He sounded mad, but he looked pained and fearful. The second was probably more real. "I know I haven't been back that long, but I've already seen enough..." He trailed off, and then his voice grew serious. Honest. "I've seen enough to make me doubt you."

Jason had expressed such things before, but usually in the heat of a rage induced rant that was only barely coherent, his points so disorganized that Bruce sometimes dismissed them as insanity. Even as a child, Jason was prone to yelling out his grievances and the result was an argument that could easily be defeated with simple logic. But underneath it all, the pain and dissatisfaction were real. And now that he'd calmed down enough to speak rationally, Bruce couldn't ignore it.

"You're not the man I knew, Bruce," Jason said. "I'm starting to wonder if you ever were."

Bruce couldn't think of a good response. This was everything he'd been fearing over the last few days. "Things are going to be different. I promise."

"They're already different," Jason muttered. And then, without actually putting on the helmet, the mask of the Red Hood was in place. "Just don't hit him. Since everyone's implying that's a thing you might do."

* * *

Disciplining Dick Grayson had been the bane of Bruce's parenthood. Jason was easier. Bruce told Jason not to do something, he did it, Bruce grounded him or took away desserts, Jason was repentant. The cycle was as it should be, and while Jason was always a handful, his behavior improved, the discipline had the right effect.

With Dick... His types of infractions were harder to punish, as he usually didn't break established rules. Dick didn't sneak cigarettes into his room or hang out on disreputable corners. But he did sometimes fail to keep his grades up. He did sometimes lose his temper and become snippy with a guest at some charity party. He did start a brief flirtation with the college-aged Batgirl while he was still significantly younger. He did drop out of college and disappeared from public life for a few years.

"Is there some rule I have to be fake happy all the time?" Dick would complain after being lectured for his attitude at some function. "Well, if you think my excuse for ditching the Mathaletes was too weak, why don't you be Robin and I'll be Batman?" he'd grouse. "I'm doing my best, Bruce. You going to ground me because I don't do everything exactly like you'd do it?" Bruce knew he should do something about that behavior, but they did seem like such small things, he felt a traditional punishment might be overkill.

Adding to the problem was the fact that those traditional methods didn't even have much effect on Dick. Send him to bed without dessert? Dick was disappointed, but it was a slap on the wrist. Ground him? Dick's social life was as fake as Bruce Wayne's. He didn't care. The only punishment that held any weight was to curtail his crimefighting life. He couldn't punish Dick Grayson, but he could punish Robin. Cancelling patrol would earn Dick's co-operation, or his humility, after the infraction. Especially as he got older. "The Teen Titans are counting on you? Then don't fall behind in your classes."

In hindsight, he might have tried harder to keep the home and cave lives separate. But he was still learning how to be a parent, and doing his best. But now...

Now, he had no idea what to do with his son. Dick was an adult. Allowed to make his own choices. Everyone complained and lectured back at the hospital that Bruce was too controlling, too unrelenting, too demanding. But when Dick was allowed to make his own choices, he made poor ones. Without Bruce's guiding influence, he ended up drunk and at the mercy of supervillains.

He debated all night whether or not to tell Dick that. To lecture him again, make him see that he needed help. Bruce wasn't perfect, but he had Dick's best interests at heart, and if Dick just _did what Bruce said_ , he wouldn't be needing someone to rescue him, he wouldn't be hurt all the time. But Dick slept late into the morning, and Bruce decided to wait. That lecture might go easier after his next appointment.

He promised Jason things would be different. He meant it, enough that he drove himself to his therapy appointment and entered the office with rigid determination. He shook hands with the therapist and kept the antagonism out of his voice. Her name was Dr. Jeraj, though Bruce wasn't planning to get on a name basis with her, even in his thoughts. She was just the therapist. A doctor, so he'd treat this as a clinical evaluation, follow the prescribed instructions and all would be well. But when he sat down, when he faced his new therapist and actually had to begin this journey, he balked. "This was a mistake."

His therapist raised an eyebrow. "Quitting before you even get started?"

"Coming here was a waste of time," he shot back.. "I have more important things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like planning my grandson's..." He had stood up from his chair, about to leave. But now, he couldn't find the strength. "Planning my grandson's funeral..." After a minute, he sat back down.

"Death can affect all of us in different ways," the woman said. "Has it been hard for you?"

"It doesn't affect me," Bruce lied. "My life isn't impacted. It's my son who's grieving. I've never seen him drink more than a glass of champagne, and suddenly he's emptied my entire liquor cabinet." But maybe this was normal for Dick. How could Bruce claim to know? Who knew what Dick did or imbibed in all the time he'd spent away from the manor? It's not like Bruce had ever been there to help through the hard times. "I'm worried for him. He won't talk to me."

"Why do you think that is?" Though it wasn't explicit in her tone, Bruce felt a little defensive, felt like he should know the answer and was at fault for not preventing that truth from coming to pass. So he didn't answer, and sat with a sullen expression. He shouldn't have come. In time, the therapist changed topics. "How old was your grandson?"

Bruce was still adjusting to that word, still adjusting to Dick and Jason, and now it was being tossed around like a casual thing. As if he'd always been a family man, as if being a grandfather was something that could ever be applied to him. "Only about a month." Not long enough to know RJ, not long enough to relate to him as a person. He was just potential, just an ideal. A precious future, now gone. "It was too soon."

"That must be hard on your family." Family. Two sons who viewed themselves as unwanted, and envied the other for everything they thought was denied them. A boy who might as well be his son, but would set up elaborate lies and hire fake family members rather than live in his house. A butler who should have been treated as a father, two girls who had _only_ wanted a father, and a young woman who shared those feelings as much as she rejected them. They all thought Bruce didn't know them, that he didn't care.

"Sometimes I think the baby had the easiest time of it," he grumbled at the floor. He took a deep breath. It was easier to start this conversation now that the ice had broken. "The experience showed me some things I don't want to accept. But if things don't change, I'm going to lose my son, too. He's not well."

"Change can be hard to accept," the therapist agreed. "But the fact that you're here is a good first step." Bruce grimaced, but not because of anything she said. She had the same levity in her demeanor as Carson, an underlying positivity, but she didn't radiate quite the same assertive confidence. Hers was a more subdued assurance. Bruce wasn't sure if he liked that better or not. "What is it you want to work through?"

And Bruce fell silent. He wasn't sure he could put this into words. If he did, he wasn't sure how much further he'd be expected to go. How much of himself would he have to expose to get results?

Time went by, and he still couldn't speak. He sensed the therapist waiting, though not impatient, and he sighed. "I don't see how this is supposed to help."

"But you came here anyway. You must have some shred of hope." There was a bit of sly attitude there, and Bruce's mouth twitched in response.

"Or desperation."

"Whatever gets you in the door. There's no such thing as a quick fix, Mr. Wayne. Whatever's bothering you probably won't be solved in one conversation, or you would have done it yourself already. It's normal to feel frustrated by that," she said with a kind smile. "But I doubt you built your financial empire in a day, either."

Couching it in such a way made the process of therapy more palatable to Bruce, but he secretly thought building up a multi-billion dollar corporation was easier. "Maybe you just like to drag it out so I keep coming back to sessions and lining your pockets?"

"I guess it's possible. I'll leave that detective work to you." Bruce's eyes snapped up, suddenly startled that she'd figured out something monumental. But that was ridiculous. His therapist merely smiled, a little amused, but ignorant. "All the more reason to make use of your time. Why don't you start by telling me about your family?"

"Isn't most of my life public knowledge? Press outlets make their living from my family's personal tragedy."

"Even so, I imagine there's more to Bruce Wayne than what's in the tabloids." Well, that was true enough. "And I doubt you want me believing every little thing I read. Tell me about your son."

Bruce could do that. "I have two. Or, I did. Jason died some time ago." He was going to have to remember that. He spent so long reminding himself not to refer to Jason in the present tense, and now that he could, he had to pretend. He couldn't help but add, "But sometimes it feels like he's still with us."

"And your other son? What's his name?"

"Richard. We call him Dick for short. His parents did, anyway."

"He's adopted?"

"Just recently. I took him in as my ward when his parents died." Bruce frowned to himself. "I didn't expect him to say yes when I drew up the papers. We weren't as close as we were when he was a child. But he did." He steepled his hands in front of him, as if he was in the Batcave, working through a problem. "Still, I obviously went wrong somewhere."

He lapsed into silence, and had to be prompted back to the conversation. "Paint me a picture, Mr. Wayne," his therapist encouraged. "What does your situation look like from where you stand?"

This felt familiar to Bruce. Looking at evidence. Cataloguing it, putting together a picture, and then holding that picture up to scrutiny. Searching for motives and a hypothesis could come later, after the measure of the situation was taken. So he focused on the immediate. "My son's behavior is extremely concerning. He's always been stubborn, a little naive and reckless, but things have become worse over the past few years. He's..." Bruce had to pause, it hurt to admit it. "He's become increasingly more self-destructive."

"How so?"

Could he explain without bring up the costumes? "He left home very young. Technically of age, but still a child, and he just disappeared. That was my fault, we weren't as close then, but I never knew where he was, if he was even in the..." he almost said solar system, "... country. And then his romantic pursuits, he used to be so _responsible_ , then before I know it he's got the reputation to rival a cat house! A string of terrible jobs, dangerous jobs, that he only took out of stubborn pride!" Bruce grew more agitated as he spoke. "And putting himself in more and more dangerous situations without asking for help. He's been shot multiple times, he nearly lost the use of his leg! And rather than come home when things get hard, he keeps running further away. Even with a baby depending on him, he runs from the people who would help him!" Bruce felt his frustration with Dick rising to the surface with every word, and the heartbreak as well. "Sometimes I want to strangle him. But every time he leaves, I worry he won't come back in one piece."

"Could something traumatic have triggered this behavior?"

"His whole life is trauma," Bruce groaned, and leaned back in his chair. "But he was always the happy one. The one everyone could count on to stay positive." Until that stopped. Bruce wondered if he resented Dick for abandoning that post as well. "He's gone beyond normal grieving, I need to get him back to normal. Make him stop brooding and drinking and fighting with me. Stop taking so many risks and start accepting that other people want to keep him safe. Especially now, with his son's death... He doesn't see what a problem he has."

"You want to help him?"

"He _needs_ my help. He can't keep going as he has been," Bruce insisted. "He doesn't see that! I know things have been hard for him, and he's had to deal with things that would break a lesser man. I'm proud of him, not like he sees that, either. But I _know_ what he's going through! More than he'll ever know, I understand what it feels like to... I've been there. I've been through it."

"You mean the death of your own son?"

"Yes, among other things." Bruce had his fair share of villains targeting his loved ones, making things personal. He'd lived through his Blockbusters, he'd disappointed his allies despite doing the right thing, had both the favor and disdain of local law enforcement. There were so many of Dick's hardships that Bruce could offer advice on, if Dick would just stop trying to prove himself and listen! "But he keeps pushing everyone away." He looked at his therapist. "So, what's your advice?"

The therapist paused for a moment. Then, "You've talked a lot about your son. All the things he needs to do to change. But he's not the one in this office. You are."

Bruce stiffened. "So?"

"You can't force other people to change, Bruce. You can only change yourself." She crossed her legs, an action meant to fill space. Both in business and as a crimefighter, Bruce thought it weak. But her words were not. "You think you can solve all Dick's problems? Then why didn't he ask you to?"

"Because he's stubborn, that's my point!" Bruce countered. "He won't admit he needs help, least of all to me!"

"Why?" The therapist was calm, even as Bruce grew more frustrated. "If you have all the answers, why isn't the problem fixed? What stops a boy in the throes of grief from running to the safety and comfort of Daddy?"

Those words shook something inside Bruce. He was struck with sensation, and old memory of his own father. He was scared of the bats, he fell down some loose earth into the cave systems on the property, and sobbed into his father's arms the second he'd been pulled back into the light. _Daddy._ Bruce never called his father that, but the word was appropriate. It conveyed the sense of what Thomas Wayne was to him, and was part of why he could never let go.

He hoped he'd been an adequate father figure to Dick, but he'd never been Daddy.

"I don't know," Bruce said, stalling. "How can anyone know what goes on in someone else's head?"

"Exactly. Dick isn't sitting in this office. Let's talk about what's going on in your head." She crossed her legs again. No CEO would ever let herself do that. Such absent action looked like fidgeting. But Bruce didn't think she cared about making a good impression, didn't think she cared if she looked weak. After all, that wasn't part of her job. "Why should he take his problems to you?"

And for a second, Bruce fumbled for an answer. It terrified him. "Because I'm _right_ ," he eventually said, but it rang hollow in his ears. That was the reason one took a car to a mechanic, to an illness to a doctor. Not why a son sought his father's comfort. But what did Bruce know about offering comfort? He never sought it for himself, he dealt with grief by wrapping himself in it like a blanket. He tried to comfort Tim after his father's injury and the boy had pushed him away. And would rather hire an actor to be his uncle than let Bruce be his father figure even on paper.

As if sensing his line of thought, the therapist said, "That might be true. But Dick still doesn't knock on your door. In your line of work, you deal with advertising and marketing, correct?"

"Yes." He figured out where she was going with that just a second before her next question.

"You have a product. You can't get the customer to buy it. Why?"

Bruce's mouth felt dry. "It doesn't look like anything they want." The metaphor could run forever. The cost was too high, there was no substance to it, it expired too quickly, any number of accusations thrown at Bruce could fit this mold.

For the first time in the meeting, he felt vulnerable. He didn't like it. And yet, wasn't this what he was asking Dick to do? Open up, show weakness, accept others into the private spaces of one's heart. Or was he really asking Dick to just pull himself together, and never speak of these vulnerable things again? Because if Dick ever actually poured out his heart to Bruce, he'd have to relive his own pain.

Bruce swallowed, but his throat still felt full of sand. "What if the problem isn't the presentation, but the product itself?"

The therapist smiled. Dr Jeraj. "Lucky for us, there's always room in the budget to go back and redesign." Bruce decided she was worth getting on a name basis with.

* * *

Dick slept straight until the funeral. Since drinking was outlawed and, in hindsight, pretty stupid, the next best thing was sleep. That sometimes came with drifting in and out of dreams, a definite downside, but laying down and staring into space was an acceptable alternative.

He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed like that, just that the sun did some moving in the sky and Tim joined him at some point. The younger boy lay down beside him and offered his silent, sad company. Every now and then, he whispered some plea or enticement for Dick to get up and do something. Dick ignored that. At one point, he got a sudden urge to reach out and pull Tim close for an embrace, but he ignored that, too.

But there was no ignoring Alfred. It was time to get ready for the funeral. Tim slipped out of bed and disappeared, probably to get dressed. Dick couldn't. Alfred waited, pulled out some black clothes, and waited some more, but Dick couldn't move. He lay still while Alfred insisted Dick change, that Dick eat some breakfast, that he get up and shower for pity's sake, and couldn't bring himself to respond.

In time, Alfred knelt by his bed. "Go in your pajamas if you must, Master Dick, but go. You will regret it forever otherwise."

"Forever's too long," Dick said back. Alfred had to drag the covers off the bed, hoist Dick up into a sitting position and then physically push Dick onto his feet. There was only minimal cooperation. Dick stood in a lethargic daze while Alfred ran a comb through his hair, and then finally gave up on making his charge presentable. He led Dick out of the room and down the corridor, to where the rest of the family was waiting.

Tim, Cass, Bruce and Jason. And Donna, she hadn't left yet. They were all in black, pressed and neat. And sad. Looking to him for something, but Dick didn't know what. He wordlessly followed as they piled into the vehicle. Jason took his motorcycle. Someone mentioned that Barbara would be coming separately with her father, and was that okay, Dick? He felt a brief stab of something emotional, bringing someone else into the knowledge of his shame, but that faded soon. The world would figure it out eventually. He was surprised reporters weren't camped out on their doorstep.

But maybe that was a good thing. Otherwise, once the funeral was over, the whole thing went away. Dick would go back to not being a father again. Like it never happened. A mistake being wiped clean.

He should have died there on that rooftop in Bludhaven. He should have taken Catalina's gun and shot himself in the head. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the upholstery. He pictured his brain matter splattered all over a wall just like Blockbuster's.

The funeral service was small. Not much to say about someone's life when it was only a few weeks long. Dick wished they'd thought to make something up. Wouldn't that be a twist? Everyone already knew the details of the life they'd come to mourn, why not create a fictional narrative of all the things they could have done? A larger than life adventure that represented them in spirit? But no, they'd just have a small little graveside service, the preacher might say a few words about ashes and dust and that would be it. Too short. Too insignificant. But Dick couldn't complain, he'd been sleeping when the others made the plans.

At least Bruce thought to arrange to bury RJ next to Dick's parents. That was nice. The only nice thing. Dick was suddenly aware he was still in his clothes and probably smelled like sweat and booze and failure. His face wasn't even washed. Well, he'd been a wreck for most of RJ's life, why pretend to be anything else now?

He thought the whole thing would hurt more. But what could the funeral do to him? RJ was dead whether or not they buried him. The bad thing had already happened. What did the dead care about funerals? This was so the living people could say goodbye. RJ was only too eager to get rid of him.

And just like that, it was over. He refused to say any words, and luckily, no one pressed that. He heard the others murmuring words of kindness, to him and to the box that was RJ's new home. But most of it didn't reach Dick's ears. But Cass kept giving him a concerned look, more than everyone else did, Dick saw that. He didn't know what she might be gleaning from his movements.

Only Jason's voice cut through the fog. He refused to be ignored. His fist bumped Dick's chest for a minute, forcing a stop and some modicum of attention. When did little Jason Todd get tall enough to look Dick in the eye?

"I don't really remember any details," Jason said, and he fidgeted. "I couldn't tell you if there's a heaven, or if we all go to the same place or whatever. It's kinda blurry. But I do remember that it was nice. If I hadn't been brought back, I wouldn't have minded staying there." Jason was earnest. Dick was still trying to attach meaning to all those words. "I remember being happy. So... if that's been bothering you, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Dick's brain suddenly caught up to him in a rush, and he crushed Jason to him in a hug. Everything hurt. He hated Jason for making it hurt. But still, he croaked out, "Thank you. Thank you for coming back." Jason gave him an awkward clap on the back, but said nothing more. He'd probably disappear after this, since he was in a worse place with Bruce than Dick had ever been. At least, until the truth came out. But it was nice to see him, nice to have this moment.

And then it shattered. Over Jason's shoulder, Dick saw Stephanie and Leslie hanging back by a tree. Some distant part of his mind thought it was nice of them to come, was touched that they'd make the trip from Africa, they must have left shortly after Dick spoke with them on the phone, but the rest of his brain burned up in rage.

He stalked over to both of them, and before Stephanie could finish any words of sympathy, he'd punched her in the face. Tim gave out a little squeak. Stephanie was stunned, and Dick didn't care.

"How dare you," he hissed. "We thought you were dead!" Stephanie was about to form some protest, some explanation, but it didn't matter. "You think it's easy to grieve over someone? All your friends, your family? Think we just go into storage?"

"I didn't think that..."

"RJ isn't faking, Steph," Dick snarled. "He's really gone, and he's not coming back! And you treat it like some joke." He realized that some of his friends were pulling his arms back, preventing him from doing any more harm. It didn't matter. He glared at Leslie. "You let us believe she died! That we killed her!"

Leslie didn't say anything. But her eyes spoke for her. _Didn't you?_ they said. Wasn't it Batman's fault, who was the instigator of so much violence and death, ruining the lives of children, and wasn't Dick as much to blame for going along with it?

But Dick asked himself the same thing every day, now. "You going to tell me this is just some hoax, too?" he snarled, and wasn't sure if he was glad or furious when Leslie showed no change in her face.

"I'm sorry, Dick," was all she said. It wasn't enough. Stephanie's tears weren't enough.

And too much. But he was done with the conversation, anyway.

He shrugged off his handlers and sneered. "Death still means something to me." And he left them behind.

* * *

In all the drama of the hospital and subsequent funeral, it had slipped everyone's mind that Dick still had a motel room under his name, and one only paid up through the week. He, and all his things, were about to be evicted.

That wasn't actually a problem, since Bruce was happy and a bit desperate to keep Dick in the manor, but it did provide him with an excuse to get Dick out of bed. After the funeral, the boy had shut himself in his old room and not moved to even eat. Bruce hadn't even seen him get up to use the restroom. He had no luck getting Dick to change clothes or expend any effort towards his hygiene, but going to pick up Dick's possessions and RJ's old baby things was enough to at least get Dick on his feet. Alfred offered to drive, but Bruce decided to do it himself. Some personal time with Dick might be good.

Or so he told himself. Most of the drive was spent in silence. Dick stared out the window. Bruce tried to recall conversations with his therapist, but found all the things they discussed suddenly lacking. Too hard, too risky, not the right time. He could identify solutions in a vacuum, but it seemed he couldn't execute them in practice.

Why would Dick confide in him? Why would he go to Bruce for comfort? Dr. Jeraj had suggested Bruce stop asking why Dick wouldn't do things and look at the problem from the opposite point of view. What _would_ make Dick want to reach out? He'd eventually admitted that a person wasn't likely to confess weaknesses to someone who never admitted to having weaknesses themselves. To open up to a person who never opened up in return, or treated feelings with respect. Even in that therapy session, where the focus was always on Bruce, he trusted whatever Dr. Jeraj said to come from a place of honesty. Her desire to work with Bruce was sincere.

Had Bruce advertised that same service to Dick? Thinking about it in those terms, he knew the marketing campaign he'd always run looked very different. Rarely what Dick was looking for, and he'd surely learned to see through the artifice. Bruce would need to start changing his message, and what he was offering.

He thought about it often, even came up with a few things to try, but how to set it in motion was elusive. So it wasn't until they'd arrived at the dilapidated motel room that Bruce said his first words. "Good thing we got here before they tossed everything out." Dick didn't reply. They entered into the room in silence.

It was the same as they'd left it. A few belongings in a duffle bag, one or two boxes, some baby things strewn on the floor. A dirty diaper in the trash, now stinking up the room. Tim's ice cream cake was melting all over the table, and the milk had spoiled. Ants were making a happy meal of the mess. Bruce regretted not indulging Tim in his celebration when they'd had the chance. Dick gravitated to the bags of gifts, lost in a daze.

Bruce began gathering up the ruined food. "I'll deal with the trash, you can start putting the clothes and things in the car."

Dick's voice was barely above a whisper. "What am I going to do with them?"

Bruce paused. "You can keep them. A memory." When Dick didn't reply, he added. "I... kept some of Jason's things..."

That wasn't a happy memory, and Dick wrinkled his nose. Bruce remembered fighting with Dick until they smashed the memorial of the Robin costume. Maybe this wasn't the best way to show they could relate. But Dick did take the bags out to the car. Bruce finished cleaning the room, and found the hidden Nightwing costume as well. He discretely packed that up, and went back into the room to find Dick laying on the bed, holding a small sleeper over his head and staring at it.

Bugs still crawled along the floor. It was hard to believe this was all that was left of what could have been their happy memories. Dick lowered his arms when Bruce came in, and turned his head away. Bruce was about to say something, then changed his mind. "It's not your fault."

He got a grimace in response, but no reply. So Bruce tried again. "It hurts now, but things will get better."

"Tell that to RJ." Platitudes weren't working. Bruce was going to have to do what he'd decided on in his therapy session, he was going to have to start these more difficult conversations. He promised Jason things would be different, he wanted things to be better, so he had to commit.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Please stay at the manor. I want you to stay with me."

Dick looked up. His expression was dull. "I thought I was." He turned back to blank space. "For how long?"

"Indefinitely. As long as you need a place to stay. I'd be grateful if you did." Dick shifted a little on the bed.

"I'm surprised you want me around, after this." His voice was thick and cracked. "I haven't even told you the worst of my screw-ups yet."

"Dick..." He wanted to reply with _"I always want you around,"_ or _"There's no reason I'd turn you out,"_ but he and Dick both knew that wasn't true. At least, that wasn't what Bruce advertised, even if it had always been the truth of his heart.

He had to be better. He had to do this. "I've admired you a great deal the past few days."

Dick didn't expect to hear that. "Admired what?"

"A lot happened. You weathered it with more grace than I did. I wasn't at my best when Jason died." He sat down on the bed, though Dick didn't move over to give him any room.

But at least he was talking. "I still punched Stephanie."

"Well," Bruce pursed his lips and remembered how he had nearly strangled Leslie upon the sight of her, "None of us are perfect." And then, they slipped back into silence. Brooding, ominous silence. Bruce thought of Dick, as he'd been while hunting down Blockbuster. He thought of the gang wars, and the awful state of his son, and the only words of comfort he offered were _"Don't let it follow you here"_. He thought of how Dick looked _after_ the gang wars, how he looked a bit more like a corpse with every day, sporting new injuries and new shadows at every sighting. He thought of Jason, staring at Bruce like he was some unrecognizable monster.

He had to say this. He couldn't wait for a better time, or a perfect opportunity. The air grew suddenly stale, as he opened his mouth to speak. "I once had an encounter with Talia, where we weren't so cautious. There were aphrodisiacs involved, I wasn't... entirely willing." Dick's expression didn't change, but he felt the young man tense. "For months, I thought she might turn up on my doorstep and announce that she was pregnant. I even began to form a theory where that had been her plan all along. But years went by, and I never heard from her. Her goal with that stunt must have been something else."

He never planned to admit what had happened. Forgetting the event was good enough for him. He certainly never pictured himself relating the story in a seedy motel room. Sitting on an ugly, filthy bedspread. Strange smells wafting in from all directions, with Dick doing his best to fade away with the breeze. "If she ever had shown up with a child, I'm not sure I could have handled it as well as you did." There. That was as much as Bruce could do. Certainly, he couldn't dredge up any more of this without a response from Dick. He was already too close to feeling old emotions as it was. So he moved on. "Ready to go?"

Dick was silent and sluggish, but he managed to drag himself back to the car. And once again, the return trip was made with no conversation. Bruce wondered if there had been a point to any of it, if he'd told such an intimate secret for nothing. He wondered if Dick even heard.

But finally, after Bruce had parked the car in the garage, Dick spoke. "Bruce? You still love Talia."

It wasn't a question. Some things couldn't be hidden. "Yes," Bruce admitted. "But she lied, and damaged something that was intimate and precious. I might love her, but I will never trust her again." It had taken a long time to admit that those two feelings could co-exist. And that his love for Talia didn't change the fact that what she did was wrong. It was only after Dick had slipped away to the prison of his room that Bruce realized he should have said that last part out loud.

But he couldn't find a way to bring it up again, and in the days that followed, Dick showed no improvement. Bruce remembered the Joker's cackling claims of "One Bad Day" that changed everything, and hoped his son wasn't already too far gone.


	19. Chapter 19

Bruce Wayne was no stranger to nightmares. But as a nocturnal being, his nightmares came in the day. Every time he woke up, his parents were still dead. Jason was dead, until one day Bruce woke up to find him taking the Joker's name and shooting people. Barbara was still paralyzed.

And now, Dick. He woke from dreams of a happy child to a reality where Dick Grayson hardly moved, didn't eat, only spoke arguments or pessimism. Murder was coming for his family again, but this time, it wasn't a stranger holding the gun.

The time to pretend he had control of the situation was past. Bruce was terrified, and felt more conflicted as the days went on. Nothing was helping Dick, but everyone had an opinion on what he should do, or not do. "This isn't about you!" Tim went so far as to snap, an echo of his and Cassandra's statements in the hospital. "It's not like he's doing this to spite you! Focus on Dick and how he's feeling!"

Except, Dick didn't want to talk about his feelings. And Dr. Jeraj told him to keep the focus on himself, not on his son and the things he couldn't control. Opening up to Dick wasn't helping. Encouraging him to open up wasn't helping. Giving him space absolutely wasn't helping.

Bruce was fed up. "I'm done with this!" he finally exploded during his therapy session. "This is getting nowhere!"

"Because you haven't seen dramatic change in the people around you?" Dr. Jeraj asked. "You're not satisfied with the change in yourself?"

"There hasn't been change anywhere!" Bruce snarled. "My son's still dangerously depressed, and my family still blames me for it!"

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard the words behind him. "And your parents are still dead."

Bruce turned around in disbelief. "What?"

The woman took a second to swallow, to clench her jaw. She had to put on the expressions of assurance, but Bruce saw there was insecurity underneath. After all, psychologists and therapists weren't omniscient, they worked off of inferences. They were human. They could be wrong.

And she knew it. Bruce felt his anger rise. He'd trusted in her advice, followed her instructions, and for what? Everything she'd said so far could be useless, could be making the situation worse, she might be the reason Dick was still a miserable lump in his bed and now she had the audacity to talk about things she didn't understand?

But she lifted her chin, and proceeded anyway. "That's what you really want, right? Until you change it, everything else is just a papercut."

"What are you talking about? I can't..." Bruce couldn't speak the words out loud, but it didn't matter. "This is ridiculous. A mistake from the start."

"Or maybe their death was the best moment of your life."

Bruce froze. He couldn't form words. His fist clenched, reached out a little as if to throttle Dr. Jeraj.

In the end, he just slammed the door.

* * *

No more taking advice from others. Bruce marched back into Wayne Manor, determined to handle things his way. His way left bruised egos in its wake, but it worked. It got results. He burst into Dick's room, letting the door bang against the opposite wall. "Do you plan to get up at any point today?"

Not even a flinch. Dick didn't even open both eyes, just let one lazy lid drift open, then closed again. "Not really."

"What about eating? Or shaving? Taking a shower?"

"I'm not really in the mood."

"And I'm not in the mood for you." That got a reaction. Dick opened both of his eyes, though his expression still looked bored. "I've about lost my patience. I understand this is a hard time for you, more than you're willing to admit, but this behavior of yours is childish."

Dick held his gaze for a moment, then rolled his eyes. He didn't even lift his head from the pillow. "This surprises you? You've only been harping on it my whole life."

"Quit with the attitude, Dick. I'm not letting you waste your life away like this." Bruce ripped the covers off the bed. "Get up."

"I can't," Dick mumbled. He closed his eyes again. "Go away, Bruce."

"You can and you will! That's an order!" When Dick didn't move, Bruce put his hands on his hips. "There's nothing stopping you! What, a member of The Flying Graysons suddenly can't lift a finger for himself?"

"Guess not." It was more than Bruce could bear.

"Enough of this! Either you get out of that bed or I will drag you out!"

"Whatever," was Dick's eloquent reply. He didn't even finish speaking the words before Bruce seized his upper arm and yanked him to his feet. Dick wasn't able to get his legs under him, and so went stumbling when Bruce pushed him out the bedroom door, ending up sprawled in the hallway. He didn't get up from the floor.

The other members and guests of the household heard the commotion and gathered around. "What's going on?"

"By my word, Master Bruce!"

But Bruce ignored all of them. He glared down at Dick. "Get up."

Dick made a halfhearted attempt, then just rolled over onto his back. He stared up at Bruce with a defeated expression. "I can't."

"Now you're just being stubborn. Get up!"

"Can we just cut to the part where you throw me out again?"

Bruce was dimly aware of Alfred trying to get a word in edgewise, of Tim and Cassandra hovering in indecision, of Jason with his mouth agape, but he ignored them all. "I'm sick of hearing that! You think you're such a victim? Everyone here has done nothing but bend over backwards to help you! Patrol's been all but abandoned, everyone's come home to offer support, you have no end of helping hands and listening ears but you would rather sit in the dark by yourself and mope! Whatever you need, all you have to do is whisper it, and half a dozen people will come running to your side! Quit pretending you're some martyr!"

Dick winced and looked away. He seemed guilty. "You don't get it."

"No? Dick, you have to snap out of this." Bruce crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet. He turned Dick's head so he could look the young man in the eye. "We've all experienced tragedy. You can't let it beat you. When I lost my parents-"

"Oh, enough about your parents..." It was as if ice settled over the manor, freezing it in time. Bruce felt it settle into the bones of everyone in the hallway. His hand had been placed gently on Dick's shoulder, now it fisted the fabric of his shirt.

When Bruce finally spoke, it was with a shaky voice. "What?" Dick looked him straight in the eye.

"I said, shut up about your stupid parents."

His hands were trembling. Strain, to keep himself from strangling Dick. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'm just sick of hearing you drag them out as the eternal excuse. I bet they're sick of it, too. You're a grown man, your parents haven't been a part of your life in decades." The force of Dick's eye roll could have sent him tumbling down the stairs. "God, Bruce, you don't even know them."

He almost hit Dick then. It would have happened, there probably would have been a jaw fracture, if a small voice in Bruce's head hadn't reminded him that he didn't sit through embarrassing therapy sessions with a crock doctor just to end up back at square one. His fist hit the floor instead, just by Dick's ear, and the young man winced.

Dropping his head, he mumbled, "Anyway, it's not about tragedy. You don't understand anything." And he shuffled back to his room, undeterred, to sleep away the next fifteen hours.

* * *

Bruce couldn't move, still frozen by the heresy spoken. "How dare he...?" Nearby, Tim and Cassandra shared meaningful and guilty looks, while Alfred looked like he desperately wanted to say something.

But it was Jason who had the courage to speak. "It is getting a little weird, how your whole life revolves around their deaths."

Two in one day, Bruce could feel the ground shaking under his feet. "Didn't you blow through several credit cards and fly to another continent in the Robin costume to track down just a hint of your biological mother?" Given that it ultimately ended with Jason's death, Bruce thought Jason had no inclination to cast stones on the subject, let alone the right.

And as it was, there was a steely glint in Jason's eyes to prove the pain had not passed. "Yeah, but I was a kid. You expect kids' lives to be all about their parents." Bruce could have argued that Jason wasn't much older now, but never got the chance. "I've only been on my own for a little while now, but already I'm getting new priorities and perspectives." He shrugged. "Mom's dead. Both of 'em. May they rest in peace. But I'm a grown up now, so whether they're alive or not, I'd still have to start living for other things, right?"

"I wouldn't know," Bruce snapped, but it seemed to lose some effect when every other person in the room was effectively parentless.

"But I do," Alfred stepped up. "I can't claim to have endured your tragic experiences, but my dear parents have also passed. And while I have no desire to dust off those painful feelings, I can also attest that I became an adult in my own right over the years. I did not have the same relationship to my parents in my forties as when I was six. As I have hinted many times before, it is concerning that you do."

"And at eight years old, your parents are barely people to you at that point," Tim chimed in, and flinched under Bruce's glare. "Like, kids are selfish. We love our parents, but their kinda like perfect people who exist to give us stuff. We don't think about the mortgage or the boss that's nagging them or how the price of lettuce just went up, we just expect food to be on the table and toys in the bin and they'll make sure someone drives us to gymnastics practice."

"Are you saying I didn't love my parents?" Bruce seethed, unable to believe he was hearing this.

Tim shook his head. "No! Just, you're an adult now, but your parents are still an ideal to you. You stop the clocks and run around angry like you're still six, it's like you don't want to move on. I almost think you enjoy it."

The words of Dr. Jeraj echoed in Bruce's mind, and he snarled, "You think I wanted them dead?"

"No! Yikes, Bruce!" Tim looked appalled. "But you tell us to move on, you watched Dick move on, yet any time we even hint that maybe it's time to let some of that pain go, you bite our heads off!"

"You tell me to let go," Cassandra pointed out. "Cain made me, but it's not an excuse."

"You're still Batgirl," Bruce countered, trying to explain that it wasn't the same thing at all. And even if it was, wasn't that the point, that all his proteges ended up better than he did? "You're all different, different circumstances."

"Yeah, I played that card, and you threw it out the window," Jason grimaced. "Maybe you just get off on misery."

Bruce hadn't expected for all of them to corner him like this. "None of you understand," he stressed. "And this isn't about me, it's about Dick."

Tim tilted his head. "And sometimes you tell me it's about Jason. Or Barbara. Or Sasha Bordeaux, or Harvey Dent, Selina. But whatever you say, it always ends up being about you. Just once, I'd like to save some time and not go through this."

* * *

And with Tim's words echoing in his head, and no improvement on Dick's attitude, Bruce showed up for his next therapy appointment. He wanted to cancel, but the anger carried his feet to the office. "What did you mean, my parents death was the best thing to happen to me?" he asked of Dr. Jeraj, radiating anger with every word. He could tell he intimidated her, but she didn't cower. "How dare you!"

"If I'm mistaken, let's talk about how we can eliminate that pain," the doctor replied. "It can't be easy, crippled by a grief that permeates every aspect of your life. It's even interfering with your relationships to your living family. Let's try to get to the core of what you're feeling and find a way to manage it."

But Bruce was silent. And if he were to admit things to himself, afraid.

Dr. Jeraj didn't smile, didn't say I told you so. But she might as well have. "Perhaps I'm not mistaken."

"You are, if you think I wouldn't do anything to prevent their deaths," Bruce hissed. "I'd give up anything to have them with me!"

"Even your sons?"

He balked. And it stirred a primal fear inside Bruce because he hadn't thought about it before, not in such solid terms, but he _would_. Indirectly or directly, if it came down to life with his parents or the life he lived with Dick and Jason, he knew what he would pick.

And just because he felt sorry for it didn't change anything. "It's somewhat of a trolley problem," the doctor continued, "Or maybe the butterfly effect. It's all hypothetical, so we can't tell what might have changed had your parents lived. But I think it's fair to say you'd be less motivated to become a foster or adoptive parent had you not felt the loss of your own mother and father at an early age, yes?"

"Yes," Bruce whispered, even though he hadn't meant to answer. That made it all real.

But Dr. Jeraj smiled. "Then perhaps there are some positive aspects to the grief and pain you've been hanging on to. What we need to do is find balance, so those positive motivations aren't overshadowed by the negative ones." When Bruce could only stare in horror, she asked, "Isn't this a reasonable goal? What part of being happy scares you? Why isn't it an option to let that pain go?"

For the first time, Bruce understood the phrase "mental block". He had so many thoughts, racing at thousands of miles per hour, but all of them smashed into some invisible wall he couldn't identify, as if someone dropped a building on the freeway and the traffic had no chance to brake or swerve. Of course it was a reasonable goal, the goal of all human beings was to be happy, people should move on from tragedy. Any feeling or event that hampered an individual's ability to live a functional life was a disorder, it needed to be treated, that was something Bruce accepted.

And yet... "If I were talking to your son, wouldn't you agree with me?" Dr. Jeraj asked. "Aren't you in here because he's miserable and you want to help him improve his quality of life? You're worried that if left alone, the problem will continue to grow worse, yes?"

Yes, that was exactly the problem. When they were talking about Dick, it was easy to agree. Whatever the causes, whatever the origins, Dick's emotions were destructive, his brain chemistry was out of balance. It wouldn't treat itself, and if left to fester, could lead to all manner of disasters. Perhaps he'd be taking the next Two-Face in to Arkham Asylum, or maybe he'd just wander by the pool one day and see his son face down in the water.

But when it came to himself... "I can't..."

"No?" The doctor shook her head. "That's a coward's excuse. While there are many conditions that can't be cured, or even fully managed, there's no one on this earth incapable of trying to improve their situation. You're fully capable of progress, even if you're afraid that the damage can't be completely repaired." Bruce didn't appreciate the terms 'coward' and 'afraid' being applied to him, let alone 'damaged', but with the pressure and attention set on him, it was starting to feel like the truth. Wasn't Batman's whole existence based on the fact that he was damaged? Of all Bruce's accomplishments, all the Batman's legacy, nothing defined him more than this childhood tragedy. If he managed to forget, and let it go, who would he be then?

"I... don't want to," he said at length, then regretted it. But being called a coward made him feel like he had to say something. It was an amateur interrogation tactic, he should have had the mental fortitude to stay silent. This was why he hated the idea of therapy in the first place, divulging personal things at other people's whims, things he didn't want to share, things that were precious to him and him alone. He didn't want to share any of these things with an outsider.

"You don't want to get better? When you've clearly suffered for years?"

"What would you know of suffering?" Bruce countered, guarding his precious things close. "And what guarantee do I have that any of this would help in the first place? You're nobody! Not psychic, not omnipotent, you only have a degree from a half-decent university, and a practice barely five years old! There's no proof you didn't sleep through half your classes or cheat on your finals! And I'm supposed to trust the details of my life to you? How many of your patients have you cured?"

"It doesn't work like that, Mr. Wayne."

"How many?" Bruce thundered, and Dr. Jeraj pursed her lips.

"I don't think any of them would call themselves 'cured'."

And that was all the validation Bruce needed. "I see. So this has been a waste of time." He made for the door, but as before, Dr. Jeraj got the last word.

"You've been wasting your time for decades, Mr. Wayne. This is, at best, a drop in the bucket."

* * *

Calling Bruce out on his parents was something Jason hadn't expected to see. Even less was how the whole Bat-cult jumped on the guy after Dick left. Something had been changing over the recent events, the minions were getting bolder about questioning their boss and lampooning him for his crap. They struck wherever they found a chink in the armor, justified or no, and it was kind of weird since that used to be Jason's job and his alone.

But in this case, he was a little glad to have the whole manor on the same side. For years, he'd been struck by the hypocrisy of Bruce's obsession and not quite sure how to put it into words, and Dick had managed to solve that enigma for him. It was one of the many factors that kept teenaged Jason from being fully able to trust Bruce, even after agreeing to the adoption. The guy had so many lectures on "the past doesn't define you" and "you need to control the pain, not let it control you", but never took his own advice. And while the bar for parenthood was set so abysmally low in Jason's life, he couldn't completely buy into the committed father image of a guy who threw a "You-can-go-anywhere-except-the-West-Wing" conniption every time you asked about the family pictures in the hall.

Bruce's life was all about his dead parents, there was no room for new memories to overwrite the bad ones. Kids had to be shoved into the little corners, never interfering with what was already established. Father's Day was about Thomas Wayne, not Jason and Dick, and so on through the year. Which was not a huge blow to Jason, since anything was an improvement at that point in his life, but it was weird to hear Bruce praising Night-douche for overcoming his deep personal tragedy to become this awesome hero, straight-A college student, pillar of society and whatever when Bruce acted insulted by anything that insinuated maybe he should let Crime Alley go for five seconds.

So since the rest of their group had turned into Jason, calling the boss on his idiocy, Jason decided to turn into them and go spend time with his big brother, a development he was still trying to come to terms with. When he'd been tiny, there had been times where he'd wondered what life would be like with a big brother, or a little brother. Now he had the one, apparently came close to having both, and it was kind of a paradigm shift.

And he'd been an uncle for five seconds. That was... an experience he didn't want to talk about while Dick was all but comatose.

Jason gripped his shopping bags and pushed open the door to Dick's room. Unlike most of their troop, he'd come prepared for this encounter. But to be fair, Jason might have been the only one with something approaching previous experience. He slipped quietly inside and began organizing the items he brought without a word, until Dick noticed him.

But the idiot didn't say anything, so Jason just nodded his acknowledgment, and continued his work. Most of it was pointless, just adjusting things to look busy, moving something from the bed to the chair, or the chair to the dresser. But he did it, remaining as soft and unobtrusive as possible.

Once Jason proved he wasn't going anywhere, Dick deigned to say something. "What do you want?"

"Not much." Jason held out a bottle of Febreeze and a package of make-up remover wipes. "For you. It won't fool anyone into thinking you took a shower, but they might get off your case about it for a bit once you're not reeking and covered in a layer of lard." When Dick didn't make a move to accept the items, Jason shrugged. "If you don't even want to move that much, just hold your breath, I'll spray you down."

"No, weirdo," Dick grunted, and pushed himself to a sitting position with far more effort than it should have taken. He looked like that small exertion would send him right back to sleep. "Whatever. Fine." He took one of the wipes and scrubbed it over his face.

"Awesome." Jason pulled out some shampoo and a spraybottle full of water. "While you're doing that, I can wash some of the grease out of your hair. I don't know if anyone told you, but the 50s are so over."

"You're not cute, you know that?" But Dick did allow Jason to squeeze a little shampoo onto his scalp and massaging it through with spays of water. It wasn't a great solution, but there was no way they were getting Dick into a shower anytime soon, and this would do for the meantime. Jason toweled off the excess water and product, and did his best to smooth things out with a comb. Hairdressing wasn't his gift.

"I've got some mouthwash, too. It'll be easier than brushing your teeth."

"Go away, Jason." Dick flopped back down on the bed and didn't look like he had any inclinations to move beyond that point.

But that was expected. "Mind if I open the window?"

"I do not care."

"Awesome." Jason heaved open both windows in the room, and shoved the curtains aside to get as much light and air inside as possible. "Look at this, you're sort of washed and don't smell like a hobo, and you're interacting with the outside world. Great job!"

"Are you being sarcastic?" Dick muttered into the mattress, and Jason grew quiet. He came and sat on the bed, far from Dick, and shot a few sprays of the Febreeze over everything.

"I'm not. I used to go through this with my mom sometimes, you know..." Jason wasn't about to go spilling his whole tragic backstory, especially since it didn't seem like Dick cared. But his mom's screwed up life was on file, so it wasn't much new information. "I can't say I understand it, but I've seen what it's like to not be able to take care of yourself. Everyone thinks you should just get out of bed, but you really can't, and all of them telling you to pull yourself together isn't going to change that." In Jason's case, his mom couldn't roll out of bed for the sake of her own kid, and Jason was more and more realizing how much Catharine Todd loved him and wanted to be a good mother, despite everything. But for all the good intentions in the world, she couldn't, and sometimes Jason took care of the both of them. "I don't know what it's like, but I get it's a thing. So let's just do what you can in the meantime, okay? It doesn't have to be good enough for Bruce and Alfred, just what gets you through the day."

Dick didn't say anything, but he let Jason shake out the blankets, so he decided that was a win. "I brought crackers and water. Feel up to any of those?"

"No."

"Okay. Maybe later." Jason fiddled with the beside clock. "I'm going to set an alarm for thirty minutes from now. When it goes off, I'm gonna help you go through your phone and emails, okay? You've got a million and a half messages and some of them are probably important." Dick groaned and rolled over to bury his head in the pillow. "Start thinking of what you want to say. I'll type 'em up and everything. If there's some stuff that can be put off for a week, tell me and I can send out messages to those guys that you're busy right now and try back later."

Dick muttered something unintelligible, but finally flopped his head back over. "Amy Rorhbach. If there's anything from her, tell her I'll get back to her when I can. Unless Bludhaven's burning, I'm useless for that. But she can trust Robin and Batgirl."

"Gotcha. Amy Rorhbach..." There were about fifty messages from Amy in the past two weeks. As Jason skimmed, he got the vibe that she was with the police, but her texts read as friend, not informant. "I'll tell her. Doesn't seem like anything's going down in the 'Haven, I think she's just worried about you." Like, supremely worried. This Amy probably knew more about Dick's mental state than any of his family members.

"Good." Dick breathed out a sigh, and seemed to doze off after that while Jason composed the reply text. It startled him a bit to find Dick wasn't actually asleep. "You can tell her what happened."

"Huh?"

"About RJ, and everything," Dick mumbled, deliberately looking the other way. "You can tell her what happened. If the media hasn't broken it to her first. But she'd want to hear it from me."

Jason paused, his thumbs hovering over the screen. "Well, I can try, but I don't really know what happened. You haven't actually said." He waited, but Dick stayed silent. "Okay, well, dictate me the Cliff Notes version, or that alarm's going off in half an hour, you can deal with it privately then."

"No, it's fine," Dick grunted. He pushed himself onto his elbows, but his head still hung down to rest on the pillow. "Tell her I had a kid with Tarantula. His name was RJ, and he just passed away, but I'm not in the mood to talk about it so please don't try to visit or send flowers."

"'Kay." Jason typed the message, but paused before hitting send. "Anything else?"

Dick shifted on the bed. "Tell her if she's changed her mind about Blockbuster, I'm crashing at Wayne Manor. I'll go quietly, so she doesn't need to bring out the cavalry and make a scandal out of it."

Jason debated whether or not to send that. He did out of respect, but couldn't help but turn himself to face Dick's huddle form afterwards. "What do you mean, go quietly?"

"I broke the law. She's a police officer. Captain now, so she's got a duty to bring criminals in to face trial."

That didn't clear things up enough, though the fact that Blockbuster was dead didn't bode well. "Yeah, we break the law every night as vigilantes, so what makes this different?"

"This time I killed someone." It wasn't exactly how Jason expected the afternoon to go, or the eventual revelation of whatever had Dick so messed up. He wasn't sure what he expected on that front, but maybe more tears, and maybe when Bruce or someone capable was around to give familial support.

This was chilling. "Blockbuster?" Jason whispered, having put enough pieces together that it wasn't really a question. Dick nodded into his pillow.

"Yeah."

The dread grew with each passing second. This was Nightwing, the pillar of optimism and moral high ground. Not Officer Grayson, Jason knew, he'd gleaned enough over the last several days and anyway, at some point with Dick it ceased to matter what uniform he was wearing. But Nightwing taking a life, that was seriously messing with his world view.

And possibly someone else's. "Does Bruce know?" Jason wasn't sure what he hoped for, but he wasn't ready to be the one Dick confided in, didn't want to find out he was the only one Dick could confide in about this because there was only one possibly reason why that would be...

But Dick snorted and turned his head. "Would I still be here if he did?"

The scar on Jason's neck answered that for him.

* * *

When Bruce returned home, Jason was just leaving. He looked like all the ghosts in the Gotham graveyard were following him. "Where are you going?"

"Out." Something traumatizing had happened, that was obvious, but Jason didn't want to talk about it. "Out of my way, I'm leaving! I'm getting out of this house, away from you and you're whole stupid crusade! It's just a bunch of lies, anyway!"

"What are you talking about?" Bruce grabbed Jason's arm, but the boy yanked himself free.

"You have no idea, Bruce!" he shrieked. "No idea how people work, how life works, but we keep trusting you again and again! We were just kids, we didn't know any better!" He picked up Red Hood's helmet and slammed it down over his head. "We didn't know you were a lying, crazy son of a bat with more expectations than God!"

"Jason, whatever's happened-" Bruce tried to chase after him, but Jason just whirled on him with a gun. His posture suggested that there was no danger of him actually firing the weapon, but it still caused Bruce to come up short.

"What's happened? Nothing's happened, it's all over and done with!" Red Hood laughed, full of bitter anger. "That's the problem, I killed people, multiple people, and I'm not sorry!" He gripped the gun tighter, and Bruce saw Alfred hovering trepidatiously at the other side of the room. It stirred old feelings about Crime Alley. "But it wouldn't matter if I was sorry, because it's done! You couldn't ever let it go, could you? If I threw out the gun and begged, we'd never wipe the slate clean, would we? No going back to Robin, no dusting off those guardianship papers?"

Bruce was both confused and irritated. "You're making yourself the victim again," he accused. "Deciding what I'll do before we talk about it, over a hypothetical situation that you know doesn't apply! Because I know you're not sorry," he said with a step forward, and Jason flinched, caught in the lie. "You still think you're in the right, but murder is always a crime! You're not asking me to forgive you, you're asking me to help you escape justice!"

"Justice?" Jason said, and Bruce knew he was sneering under the helmet. "What's the real crime here, Bruce? You want me to stand trial for popping some gang leaders, or for letting you down?"

It was fury that kept Bruce from answering, not indecision. He told himself this, as Jason closed the distance between the two of them.

"You can't help Dick-head," he hissed. "Not now, and I'm starting to wonder if you ever did. But I definitely see a pattern when it comes to the type of kids you raise."

Bruce threw his hands in the air. "Jason, you're not making sense!"

"Shit, it's so simple, Bruce!" Jason pulled off his helmet again, revealing furious, bloodshot eyes. "You can't help Dick because you can't help me! Because you don't want to! Because you still think he's the Golden Boy and I'm the screw-up and there's no room for compromise in your world!"

"The only one who ever thought that way was you!" Bruce insisted. "I never thought you were a screw-up, or that Dick was perfect!"

"Yeah, well you can just live in this stupid house alone and pretend all this crap is everyone's fault but yours! I'm out!" Jason screamed. "I'm sick of trying to be something that's impossible just to make you proud! Your moral code and your standards are too high!"

"Seems like you threw that away a long time ago," Bruce growled, and Jason matched his expression.

"You have no idea who I am," he replied, rage and pain etched on every inch of his face. "But you don't know Dick, either. So I'm not going to beat myself up for failing to match an ideal even he couldn't reach. It's over, Bruce. Don't get in my way again." And with that, Jason pulled the helmet back over his head, and then stalked off into the night.


	20. Chapter 20

When Tim entered the kitchen, Stephanie was seated at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of her, and a stack of Alfred's pancakes behind that. They were drowned in syrup, and Stephanie alternated between spoonfuls of cereal and cramming pancakes into her mouth.

She paused when he entered, then waved. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" It wasn't exactly an accusation, and Stephanie didn't take it that way.

"Cass invited me." She shrugged. "She's in the basement, training. It's not a big deal, is it?"

Tim wasn't sure. His feelings were still all tied up in a Gordian knot. But after so many months of Stephanie being out of their lives, he wasn't going to send her away. "No."

"How's Dick doing?"

Another hard question. Tim wished he were in class, solving calculus problems. "I don't know." He watched Stephanie's pancakes disappear, imagining the weight settling in his gut. "This whole thing reminds me of Dana..."

"Your stepmom? How so?"

"Well, you know, the death and all..." He stopped himself. Stephanie looked sympathetic and concerned... and confused. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" She took another bite of cereal, then washed it down with some orange juice. "I missed a lot while I was out, sorry."

"My dad... he was murdered." That caused Stephanie to choke on her orange juice. Tim kept going, knowing he only had so many seconds left before the window shut on his ability to talk about this. "After that, Dana had a psychotic break. She's been in a treatment facility for months, but no one's really hopeful about recovery." He forced his eyes to stay on the table, focused on the grains in the wood. "Dick's been... weird, since before the gang wars even. Now... I'm scared I'm going to lose him, too."

His eyes were knocked off the table when Stephanie crashed into him. "Tim, I'm so sorry!" She clutched him tight, like no one else had or could. "That's awful! Your dad, he was-"

"I don't really want to talk about that right now," Tim said, and Stephanie quieted. He wasn't sure why the feelings were so raw, so suddenly. He'd have discussed his father and Dana with anyone else, with Stephanie if she hadn't indicated this would be new information. But remembering she hadn't been there, that he'd lost someone else and _she wasn't there_ , because she'd been _faking_...

It was a bit much to deal with, at the moment. "I don't know how mental illness works. I can't create a computer program or a formula to explain depression. The only experience I have with it is Bruce and Dana." He grimaced. "Neither story is really inspiring."

"Don't forget Two-Face and Harley Quinn," Stephanie offered, which was horrendously unhelpful in her own comforting way. She slid over the stack of pancakes without another word.

Tim dug in. The sugar on an empty stomach helped more than it had any right to. When Alfred entered, he accepted the offer of seconds.

After a minute, he dared to ask, "Why did you do it? Really?"

Stephanie stirred her cereal. There were only a few small pieces left among the swirling milk, like boats struggling at sea. "Honestly, I don't know. At first, it was all Leslie, I was half passed out and bleeding, I didn't even know what was going on. By the time I was lucid enough to realize what she'd done, the media had gone crazy and we were out of Gotham. I could have come back, I guess, set the story straight, but..." She scooped up a piece of cereal with her spoon, but didn't bring it to her mouth. "She made a lot of sense at the time. Recovering from torture doesn't help with the decision making."

Tim nodded, not sure what to say. It wasn't the answer he wanted. "Oh."

"In a way, maybe I needed that," Stephanie continued, thinking out loud. "Leslie didn't just patch me up, she made sure I was okay up here, too." She tapped the side of her head. "I mean, I was all ready to be Bat-like and "no, I'm fine", but we talked about trauma and psychology and... I realized stuff about myself. Not just being captured by Black Mask, either, stuff about how I grew up..." She blew her bangs out of her eyes. "I still should have come back sooner. But with everything that happened, all those deaths, it just made me realize that what we do isn't very pretty. I'm not even sure its always good. Even after I decided I didn't agree with all Leslie's ideas, it still seemed like I'd do more harm than good if I let Stephanie Brown come back to Gotham."

"But you're here now." Tim met her eyes, feeling a little hopeful, but he wasn't sure why.

Still, it gave him something to hold on to. A lifeline. "I think my place is here. Even if it's not with you guys. I'm not... I dunno. I helped people with Les in Africa, but that's not what I am. Whatever I am is here."

"Yeah..." They had that in common, at least. "I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks." A few more minutes of silence passed, more comfortable now, before Stephanie commented, "So, you and Cass seem pretty close."

Tim sputtered and choked, but was spared an answer when Dick entered the kitchen. He was off balance enough, the sight of Dick Grayson emerged from his bedroom caused him to nearly fall out of the chair. "Dick! Uh, hi! Good morning."

"Mm," Dick responded, barely vibrating his vocal cords. He looked terrible, and smelled kinda like Febreeze. "Is Jason around?"

"Jason?" Tim glanced at Stephanie, then shook his head. "No, I haven't seen him for, like, nearly two days. I thought he might have left again."

"Oh." Dick might have been disappointed. It was hard to tell, with all of his energy being used just to stand upright. "He does that."

"Yeah..." Tim nodded. Actually, he had no idea what Jason did. He was only just now getting to know the former Robin. "We'll let you know if he turns up again, though."

"Mkay," Dick mumbled, then continued to stand there, tired and lost. Tim didn't want him to go back up the stairs and disappear for another week, so he tried to engage him in conversation.

"Alfred made pancakes!" he said, far too cheery. "You want some?"

"No."

"Cassandra's training downstairs, if you feel like sparring."

Now Dick looked confused. "Why?"

"Uh..." This was hard. But Dick wasn't making it any easier. "I don't know. Just... suggesting things." He wilted under Dick's blank look. "You don't have to do anything, they're just ideas."

Dick looked like the conversation was tiring him out. "Whatever." His eyes did fall over Stephanie, though, and it elicited something like an emotion. "Sorry I hit you."

"Eh, who among us hasn't punched the other in the face," she replied, waving her hand. "It's fine. Sorry I pretended I was dead and it was all your guys' fault." That actually got Dick's chest to move, the barest hint of a chuckle. Stephanie kept going. "You look homeless, by the way."

Dick's hollow gaze wasn't quite mirth or a glare, but it was unnerving. Dead and lifeless, but he did manage to return fire, "Well, you look pretty good for a zombie."

"Flatterer," Stephanie giggled. "Pull up a chair, I'll share my pancakes if you keep talking like that."

"No, thanks." Dick sighed, and drifted back towards the stairs. Tim felt his heart breaking, but what was he going to do, tackle Dick and force him to stay? Would that help anything?

Then, over his shoulder, Tim heard Dick say two words. "Maybe later."

Later... it wasn't much to cling to, but Tim whirled around to smile at Stephanie. Robins were all about hoping for 'Later'.

* * *

Donna knocked and entered Dick's bedroom, finding it much as she'd left it. Dick was still in bed, unwashed, Barbara was seated by the side, reading a book.

At least Barbara had changed clothes. And this time, Dick looked awake, if uncaring. "So, world's ending, huh?"

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"I won't shoot the messenger." Dick rolled his head over. "What if this time we just let it end?"

Barbara hit him with her book. "Not funny, Boy Wonder."

"Just a joke." He looked back at Donna. "But, seriously, isn't there a whole cosmic green police? They can't handle this?"

A good question, and some days Donna agreed with Dick. "I think this particular crisis is a bit bigger than them."

"Huh." Dick closed his eyes. "Well, whatever the plan is, remember that I don't have superpowers."

"I've never factored that in before." Donna crossed her arms, but was prevented from saying more when Barbara snorted.

"This, from the man who single-handedly retook Blackgate Prison."

"It was a different time." Dick looked miserable, and Donna wished she knew what to say. It was true, Dick didn't have superpowers, but she'd never faced something this big without Dick Grayson at her side. Even if they weren't consciously aware of it, the presence or absence of Nightwing made a difference to team morale, and they needed all the morale they could get.

But it wasn't fair or practical to tell Dick he needed to get his act together and hold Superman's hand. While she thought, Dick idly squirted a few shots of Febreeze, and Barbara groaned.

"That's not a substitute for bathing yourself."

"Since when do I do what you tell me?"

"Since never. That's why you're a blockhead."

"No, I'm a block _buster_ ," Dick giggled, and it went from lazy to slightly maniacal, before he sighed. "Ugh, why do you guys keep hanging around? Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

They did, actually. But not necessarily a better place. "We're not going, Dick. No matter what you say or do."

"And I'm saving up blackmail material," Barbara added, flipping back to her book. "So keep it coming." Dick's reply was a sneer, but he soon deflated.

"I can't help you save the world, Donna," he intoned, staring up at the ceiling. "Not this time."

"I know," Donna said, despite herself. Barbara gave her a sharp look. But it wasn't the death of hope that Donna always thought that admission would be. In fact, as she talked, she felt the corners of her lips form a hesitant smile. "But this is what we save the world for. I want to remember that."

Dick looked dubious. "This?"

"Yeah." Now, more than ever. The struggles and flaws, erased as if they never existed. But that pain and despair lived on somewhere, didn't it? So did the joy. Donna had trouble putting it into words, but this crisis in particular was more than just someone trying to blow up a planet, which made Dick's struggles all the more precious. She had to save the world, the reality, the timeline, so Dick Grayson could go on his depressive bender and mourn the deaths of his child and childhood.

This smelly, tragic reality was what she wanted to protect. And it was suddenly more precious than heaven itself.

Donna would know. "Yeah. I'm saving the world for this."

"Huh." Dick considered that, then rolled over and went to sleep. Barbara and Donna kept watching over him.

* * *

Late that night, Bruce heard a pair of footsteps padding down the hall to his room. His first thought was 'intruder', because he didn't recognize the steps, but soon realized it to be Dick. The boy didn't even have the same energy when he walked, or the same weight on his feet. The change frightened Bruce.

But everything about Dick scared him these days. "You're finally up?"

"Couldn't sleep." Dick looked like he might collapse from exhaustion, though. "You haven't seen Jason lately, have you?"

"Ah, no..." Not since he stormed out. But he'd come back once, maybe he would again? If not for Bruce, for one of the others. "He's upset with me. But Jason has a way of showing up when we need him, despite himself."

"Maybe." Dick had a small smile on his face, and it gave Bruce hope.

"You two... have been getting along more than usual."

"Yeah, it's kind of weird." Dick leaned against the wall. "Maybe he feels sorry for me."

"Jason isn't much for pity..." Though even if he was, Bruce wouldn't question a blessing. And Dick was more verbose and responsive than he'd been in days. "I'm glad to see you trying." This wakefulness was probably just a byproduct of sleeping for days on end. But any second Dick was awake, for any reason, was probably a good sign.

Bruce kept that to himself. After his last confrontation with Dick, he was trying to be less aggressive. Dick had never responded to that well, he should have known better. At present, Dick shrugged. "Just felt like walking around. If that's okay."

"Of course." Now that he'd said it, Dick just stood there. "Anything in particular you want to do?"

"No."

"I think some of the others are watching a movie upstairs."

"Mmm." Dick was more obstinate now than he was at twelve.

"Well, I felt like browsing something in the library before bed. You're free to join me." After waiting for a response that didn't come, Bruce finally turned and went about his business.

He was surprised that Dick did follow him. But the young man made no sound or comment, didn't even search the shelves for a book. He collapsed into one of the armchairs and appeared to be taking a nap. So much for not being able to sleep. Bruce tapped a few old books on one of the shelves, settling on a review of German history, before finding his own chair to meld with.

He was around the 1800's when Dick finally uttered a phrase. "After Jason died..." And Bruce stiffened, because no good sentence began with those words. "... what made it okay? Not better, I know it never gets better for you, just..." Dick sunk deeper in his chair, if that were possible. "How did you get functional?"

That needled at Bruce. He was _functional_. That's how people saw him, and it wasn't inaccurate. But he wasn't _well_ , he wasn't _healthy_ , he wasn't... he didn't even know. "Work," Bruce offered. "Focusing on work has always helped."

"Oh." Dick was frowning. "What if that's not an option?"

For Bruce, being Batman was the only option. When tragedy struck, he retreated into the cowl. Tim called him out on that, but what else was there to do? But as he thought that, Bruce realized he wasn't always so mission-oriented...

"Having someone else to care about... it helps." He paused, to see if Dick reacted. He didn't. "I don't recommend you start adopting trapeze artists, but... to focus on another human being is... liberating."

That almost made Dick's mood worse. "Yeah, I get that."

Bruce tried to salvage the situation. "To show someone love is a choice. And it's a task that's never done. It truly does help put things in perspective."

Dick looked over, skeptical. "Sounds like something I would say. You really believe that?" Bruce felt the accusation. He, who never got over the past, and balked at showing affection to others.

"I didn't say it was easy," the man shrugged. "Just that it helped."

They fell into silence again, but Bruce's mind was in turmoil. Was that useful, did Dick see him as a hypocrite? _Was_ he a hypocrite?

And then, Dick spoke. "Thank you for adopting me."

Bruce froze. His heart raced with feelings, his mind tried to analyze those words, and nowhere in all of that was he able to decide what to say in response. But it didn't seem Dick needed one. "Talia," he said quietly, as if using each word to test the water, "If she ever did show up with your kid... You'd have surprised yourself. He'd be luckier than he knew."

Bruce swallowed. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. Suddenly, he wished he had Dr. Jeraj by his side. Why couldn't Dick have said this days ago, when Bruce was in the mood to share? When the conversation was already flowing? Why now, when everything was confused and convoluted and Bruce had already shut the door on it?

"With my record?" Bruce chuckled to diffuse the tension. "I'd probably make him Robin." That earned a smile from Dick, and then Bruce was lost again. He fell back on Alfred's old diatribes on tact and etiquette. _'If someone pays you a compliment, it is polite to return it in lieu of a glare, Master Bruce...'_ "RJ was lucky, too."

Dick's jaw trembled, and he turned away. "Thank you." And then, suddenly, Bruce was struck with the mess of the whole situation. None of this was pretty, he would never have the right words to say.

He heard the condemning words of Alfred, Tim, Cassandra and Jason, of Dr. Jeraj. Of Dick, claiming he was so sick of hearing about Bruce's parents.

"Dick," he said, still not sure what he was saying, if it made the slightest bit of sense, but feeling that this was monumentally important. "You're not... abstract... to me."

"Back at you," Dick returned, though whether the meaning Bruce ascribed to those words had sunk in, he couldn't tell. Before long, Dick rose and returned to bed.

Bruce sat there a bit longer. How long had it been since he'd opened up about Talia? Five days, a week? Longer? He hadn't thought it had any affect, that he'd opened up a vulnerable part of himself for no reason at all.

But it had mattered. Dick remembered. Who knew if it actually helped, but Dick remembered, and that made it matter. Bruce rose from his chair, and phoned his therapist's office.

At this time of night, he got an answering machine. But that was fine. "This is Bruce Wayne," he spoke into the recording. "I'd like to un-cancel my next appointment."

* * *

The next morning, Bruce found Dick sweeping the floors of the ballroom. Badly. And he was too irritable to talk, so Bruce left him alone before he got a broom thrown at him. "I do think it's a good sign," Alfred said he served breakfast. "He approached me of his own accord, asking to lighten my load. He said it had to do with some advice he received last night." He gave Bruce a knowing look, though Bruce himself remained stunned.

"You really think this will help?" he finally said, and Alfred tossed his head.

"He's got nothing to gain from wallowing in his own sorrows. This can't make it worse." Well, Bruce couldn't argue with that. Alfred continued. "Concerning the other members of our gathering, Master Tim and Miss Cassandra remained in Bludhaven after patrol last night. They plan to make the rounds there again this evening before returning home."

"Good." That city was doubly in need of Batgirl and Robin without Nightwing around, and he hated the idea of them patrolling Gotham with Akins around. Enough time had passed since the gang wars that many of the individual officers were reluctant to shoot on sight, but orders were orders and it was a huge risk to take.

"Also, there is a young Miss Brown lurking in the shadows of this manor. She's rather terrified to cross paths with you, I suggest you rectify that as soon as possible. I believe she can be lured out with a stack of pancakes."

"I see." Bruce couldn't help a smirk. Troublesome, brash, completely insubordinate and the most questionable decision making skills, but oh, he did miss Stephanie. "I'll try to-"

First, it was the ground. A light tremor, something he might have ignored if he wasn't Batman and this wasn't Gotham. It wasn't so long ago that the city had been devastated by an earthquake, and Alfred's face showed he remembered that, too.

But before Bruce could slip down to the cave to check readings on siesmic activity, his phone buzzed. And the discreet pager he had tapped into emergency lines. And the police scanners. And when he opened the door to the Batcave, he heard the emergency alarms blaring with all their might.

Stephanie ran up to him, panting and not at all caring about the wealth of unacknowledged issues between them. "Okay, you are so not going to believe what's blowing up all my feeds."

"What?" Bruce asked, growing impatient. Stephanie's pale face wasn't helping his mood.

"Somebody just dropped a nuke on Bludhaven!"

In the ballroom, a broom hit the floor with a deafening thud.


End file.
